


Athene Noctua (5th Anniversary Edition)

by artificiallifecreator, pickleplum



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anteverse (Pacific Rim), Drift Bond, Drift Compatibility, Drift Side Effects, Family, Found Family, Ghost Drifting, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Trust Issues, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallifecreator/pseuds/artificiallifecreator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickleplum/pseuds/pickleplum
Summary: In the Drift Newt learned what's under all of Hermann's ill-fitting layers. Now, they both have to deal with that knowledge.(This work will update once a week on Tuesdays until completed.)





	1. Personal space, Drifting, revelation, and goodnight

Everything's too desperate and rushed until Mori and Becket's voices crackle over the comm link from the recovery chopper, sounding nearly as tired as Newt feels, but, like, only ten percent as happy.

Applause and cheers fill the air in LOCCENT and Newt mentally flails for a moment while his brain catches up with the fact that Hermann's hugging him.

Hermann.

Hugging.

Him. In that order, just like that. And in front of _witnesses_!

Five years of living on top of each other, six years of letters before that, nineteen years of knowing the other guy existed, and it's the first time—the _first_ _time_!—the prickly bastard lets Newt touch more than his hand or arm or his big, stupid coat with the bigger, stupider hood that's always falling over his eyes.

He thought it was a personal space thing until … well, the Drift.

And fuck if the Rangers weren't right: the Drift changes _everything._

Now he has enough questions to make his head spin, but Hermann's slunk a couple of steps away and's looking at him in a way Newt's pretty sure means he'll die a very messy death if he asks anything before Hermann's ready to answer.

Asking in public's _right_ out.

That's alright. He can wait.

For a little while. Maybe. Probably.

Whatever he's thinking—or not—flits away as the party swallows him, sweeping him along to one of the cavernous mess halls and it's several hours and a number of adult beverages before he notices the close, familiar buzzing of Hermann in the back of his brain doesn't actually equal a close and familiar Hermann in physical space: Doctor Stick-in-the-Mud has totally and, let's be honest, typically, vanished. Newt figures he'll be in the usual place—his room—so he sways off in that direction.

Newt's spinning the wheel and unlocking his Hermann's door when he stops—stops himself.

And … knocks.

Great. Hermann's social niceties are rubbing off on him. Or that urge's a trickle of second-hand absolute terror at the thought of visitors walking in unannounced.

Either/or.

Hermann's voice, muffled and unintelligible—

"Hey, Hermann, I didn't—"

From the ceiling, AGNIS—

> First day in K-Science, nearly jumping out of his skin when a voice from the ceiling joins the conversation like the HAL-fucking-9000 of the Shatterdome (minus the red light) with the same kind of—

—almost-but-not-quite-condescending synthesized video game in-joke voice, ""Sir Rockstar World-saver Extraordinaire, Doctor Gottlieb asked me to permit you entry to his quarters, as he is currently otherwise occupied.""

"'Otherwise occupied', sheesh," Newt grumbles, but, "Thanks, AGNIS."

Again with the politeness. Weird night. Morning. Time of day.

""You're welcome, Sir Rockstar. Have a pleasant evening.""

 _Evening._ Time flies when you're saving the world.

The wheel spins the rest of the way unlocked and Newt pushes the door open, nudges it closed behind him with his foot.

From the desktop, between the laptop and a neat stack of notebooks, a long-faced orange cat opens a green eye and yawns.

From the washroom, Hermann calls, ""Lock the door, please.""

"Right, sorry, dude!" Newt properly closes the door and spins the wheel until it clunks 'locked'. "Mind if I sit?"

""Not at all.""

"Thanks!" Newt sits on … the chair. Chair's a safe bet. Newt sits on Hermann's desk chair. Hermann's fancy-schmancy, ergonomic-with-a-zillion-settings, definitely-not-in-no-way-shape-or-form-standard-issue chair. "Hey, Hermann?"

""What is it?""

"Your chair is fucking _awesome_ and I swear to god you have _got_ to tell me what internal organ you traded to get it because I'm getting rid of whatever it is."

""Entertain an infant with basic calculus.""

"Okay, so I'm not getting a super-awesome chair, got it." So Newt takes advantage of Hermann's cloistering to fully enjoy said chair—

(Also, Hermann's back? Based on the padding, _ow_ —or his—yea, probably those. Right.)

—and sits.

The cat flows into his lap.

"Umm, probably not a good idea, furball." Newt prods it with a fingertip.

Cat flicks its tail, leaps to the floor, and disappears under the desk.

Newt sits.

And sits.

And—"Hey, Hermann?"

""Would you give me a moment, please.""

"I've given you, like, a zillion moments—"

""Newton, this is the first time I've been this little dressed since—""

> Grayscale and affection and an old grief; a young man in profile lying in the grass, eyes sparkling with the secrets of the universe as he weaves theories like poetry with as much his hands as his words—

"Er, sorry? About that," says Newt.

A beat like a hanging indent. ""The fault is mine; my apologies.""

"Totally unnecessary!" Newt fidgets. "So I guess he's—"

Softly, ""Oh, this is _ridiculous_.""

The bathroom door slides open.

Hermann, in only plaid flannel pajama bottoms, snaps, "He and you—and my family—are the only ones who—"

" _Dude._ "

The Drift … yeah, the Drift wasn't _nearly_ enough preparation for _this_.

It's the dozenth impossible thing of the day, overloading Newt's already exhausted, alcohol-fuzzy brain, and all he can do is stare.

Hermann's wings (or _WINGS!_ , as Newt's brain _insists_ on calling them) lie folded against his back, a narrow fringe of coppery reddish-brown feathers peeking over the tops of his bony, bare shoulders.

Hermann proper, flush spreading down his bare chest past his sternum, looks anywhere but Newt, says softly, "I don't think I can do this." _Does_ look at Newt through eyelashes Newt should've notices _ages_ ago are about a mile long. "Tonight, at least."

"Yea, sure, definitely, d'you want me to—"

"I would prefer if you stayed—"

"I wasn't thinking sex, for the record—"

"I hadn't even thought that far."

"Liar."

Hermann makes a face, but concedes. "If you would excuse me."

"Yep, go for it!" Newt offers a thumbs up and what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

Hermann shuffles a turn—

His _WINGS!_ cover his back from the tops of his shoulders to just below his waistband. The feathers are—shit, dude—almost the same color as his hair, but liberally smudged with white. A stripe of lighter, fluffier feathers runs down his spine. The primary flight feathers—holy shit, could he—are at least as long as Newt's forearm and their serrated leading edges say 'owl' in no uncertain terms.

—steps into the washroom, closes the door gently, then: ""I'm honestly surprised you retained that much of the literature on the Drift.""

"Dude, clearly, I remembered enough."

""Yes, enough to give yourself a grand mal seizure.""

" _And_ save the world."

""I seem to recall the key to the Breach was only obtained after _I_ joined the attempt.""

"Are you saying … the two of us combined have enough Drift literature?" Newt chuckles, "It's literally Drift literature. Literature in the Drift? Heh."

The door slides back open.

Hermann, _WINGS!_ now hidden under an old-mannish pajama top he's buttoning up over a t-shirt, says, "No, I'm saying _I_ remembered enough of the literature to hypothesize that a three-unit Drift would best facilitate information retrieval and provide the added benefit of preserving our health."

Newt pouts. "Well, I still built the thing."

"We won't argue about this now." Hermann consults his dresser—

"How can you argue that I built the … thing?"

Hermann gets a very _British_ set to his jaw and straightens with a neatly folded stack of clothes in his arms. "The Shaolin Rogue neural bridge was a disaster _before_ you played Victor Frankenstein with it—"

Newt says—

"— _but_ I would prefer not to discuss it now." Offers the stack.

Newt takes—"What? Why?"

"Do you honestly think I'll let you and your cargo of city debris, dead Kaiju, Blue, and a thousand other … _contaminants_ anywhere near my bed?"

"I thought you said we weren't having sex. Tonight."

Hermann inhales—pointedly. "Newton." A deep breath and he goes completely stuffy professor. "I said earlier I was not ready to have sex with you. What I'm saying _now_ is that I do not wish to be alone and so I'm inviting you to share my bed with me in a platonic fashion." Exhales. "Co-sleeping, if you will, even though neither of us is an infant." Raises an eyebrow. "Physically at least."

Newt stands, saunters to Hermann, and takes the bundle from his hands. "Says the guy who's practically _swaddled_."

"It's for medical reasons."

"That's what they _all_ say." Newt closes himself in the washroom.

""I would insist you shower, but I recognize that would be too much to ask.""

"Yeah, it would be." Newt peels off his jacket and oh good god Hermann has a point: he is _disgusting_. "Okay, it wouldn't be too much. I'm gross."

""There's a spare towel under the sink."" A pause. ""As well as a biohazard bag if you so choose.""

"I choose, I totally choose. This shirt's … this shirt is just _toast_ , man." Gingerly drops it _away_ from him, strips from his undershirt and … his Kaiju are all wonky colors. "Hey, um, should we be thinking of going to Medical?"

"" _You_ should have _thought_ of doing so after your first Drift.""

"Why not you?"

""Why ever not, Newton?""

"Right. Wings." Boots—probably also goners. "They're perfect, dude," he says, only a smidgen too loudly. "The little owl. Athene noctua. 'Wisdom goddess of the night.' Athena's owl. They fit you."

""I'm perfectly aware of what—their source.""

"I _really_ want to ask you the hows and whys, but I'm guessing you're not up for that right now."

""How very perceptive of you.""

Newt runs a hand through his hair, grimaces as bits of concrete—he hopes it's concrete, anyway—rain out. "Listen, I'm not going to say anything about—" He gestures vaguely to Hermann except there's a closed door between them. "—this, so you don't, like, have to kill me or take out my vocal cords or tongue or anything like that, even though you've probably wanted to do that for years already …."

He hears Hermann exhale exhaustion and … something else, then, ""Just get yourself cleaned up, Newton.""

"Right. Clean. I'll get on that." Newt sticks an arm into the shower enclosure, twists the tap to what he hopes is the proper setting.

Water shushes down.

Newt manages the rest of his clothes, every layer just as fucked up as the one before, kicks them into a pile in the corner. Well, he deserves a new wardrobe after saving the world. He finds the promised spare towel, hooks it next to the shower door, checks the water temperature.

Eh. close enough.

He heaves himself into the spray, takes stock of the bottles of lotions and potions on offer: chamomile, lavender, baby no-tears formula. "You have anything for adults?"

""Muddle through.""

"'Muddle through'." Newt rolls his eyes, grabs—the shampoo slips through his fingers, crashes against the floor—

> Concrete dust and street grit hang in the air, people scream, blue bioluminescence coming closer, closer—

From very, very far away and very small: ""Newton, are you alright?""

Newt swallows around his racing heart. "Yeah … yeah, soap's just slippery and, uh, water is wet." He gets a firm grip on the bottle and picks himself up.

""I would never have suspected.""

Newt snorts, squeezes a curl of gel onto his palm, does the whole suds thing. He rinses, repeats on his skin with the chamomile. Rinses, repeats with the lavender. Rinses, twists off the taps, opens the door a crack—freezing air!—yanks the towel inside, sets to drying off.

The spare clothes turn out to be boxers, flannel pajama pants, and an oversized, somewhat faded black t-shirt sporting a line of bold gold Chinese.

Newt climbs inside—the waists're a mite snug and the inseam's too long and the shirt'd probably hold two Hermanns—and navigates his way out of the washroom without tripping to his death on the pants.

Hermann's already laid out on the bed on his stomach, face turned away and arms folded under a pillow, blankets somehow folded back neatly at the level of his waist. He's left a perfectly Newt-sized space open beside him.

Newt perches on the edge of the mattress, drops his glasses on the bedside table. "So, uh, how're you feeling?"

Hermann snorts, wings twitching under his shirts. "Exhausted. You?"

"Awesome, sore, and like my head is going to explode any second. So, kind of an average I-just-saved-the-world sort of day. Also, sort of nauseous and tired enough to collapse."

Quietly: "So, you'll accept my offer of a bed?"

"Absolutely." Newt takes a deep, shaky breath, adds in a whisper; "I don't want to be alone, either."

"Post-Drift separation anxiety," mumbles Hermann.

"Whatever, Hermann. Don't steal all the covers, alright?"

Hermann scoffs.

Newt calls, "AGNIS, lights?", wiggling himself to fit that Newt-shaped space,

Hermann adds, "Please."

Darkness falls.

""Thank you.""

Newt grumbles, tugging the blankets up to his nape, "Thanks."

AGNIS says, ""Goodnight, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Newt would complain, but he's dead to the world as soon as he closes his eyes.


	2. Curiosity, origin stories, family ties, and binders

Newt wakes cold and shivers, blinks blurry eyes around a space which seems way too neat to—

"Oh, good. You're awake," mutters Hermann from behind him, eye-roll clear in his voice. "I feared you planned to sleep all day."

"Cut me some slack, Hermann. I saved the world yesterday—"

"We—all of us—saved the world."

"Like I said."

Hermann scoffs, the puff of air ruffling Newt's borrowed shirt.

"Whatever. I can sleep late if I want." Newt rubs some of the grit from his eyes, then flops onto his back—

"Mraau!" An orange cat shoots off the pillow.

—and stretches, trying to pull the ache out of his back. "I'm sure you have incredibly detailed and exciting plans for your first day as the guy who saved the guy who saved the world, probably involving math and chalk."

"It is a comfort to see probable brain damage has not affected your inflated sense of self-importance."

"What do you—"

""Apologies for the interruption, Doctor Gottlieb,"" says AGNIS, sounding not the least bit sorry. ""Former Marshal Xiong has taken command of the Shatterdome and expects to debrief both of you at twelve-hundred hours in her office.""

"Wait a minute. I thought Pen—Hansen was in charge—"

""Ranger Hansen has resigned his promotion in favor of Marshal Xiong's experience at running a city-sized military installation.""

"Is that even legal—is she allowed to do that?"

""Perhaps the question you should be asking, Sir Rockstar, is who would have the authority to reprimand her.""

"Pretty sure she's supposed to answer to the UN."

""It is charming you think the members of that august body have the nerve required for that undertaking.""

Newt winces on their behalf. "Tell us how you really feel."

""My records indicate that I just did.""

Hermann props himself up on his elbows. "AGNIS, if you would, what time is it now?"

""It is eight minutes past ten.""

"Thank you. Please inform Marshal Xiong's staff we will be there as requested."

""It is done.""

"Thank you, AGNIS."

""You are welcome, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Newt whines, "I can't believe we have a _meeting_ first thing—"

"And yet we do. Now, would you kindly get out of my way so I may go about my day? I've been awake for nearly an hour now."

"Dude, why didn't you just climb over me?" Newt asks as he gingerly sits up in deference to his slightly spinning head and eases himself off the mattress to stagger across the small room and lean against the desk.

"I didn't want to wake you. I'm aware of the fact you hadn't slept in fifty-three hours before last night."

Newt blinks. "You were counting?"

Hermann shrugs (or at least Newt _thinks_ he does, because everything's—)

""I was counting,"" smugs AGNIS.

Newt throws an arm towards what might be the nightstand—"Couldn't you have, I don't know, programmed her to be less creepy?"

Glasses!

—jams them on his face, and squints at Hermann through the broken lens.

"You can thank my brother for that and her voice," Hermann says dryly.

"I've always wondered: is that _really_ her? The game lady?"

"Yes, it is. My younger brother somehow convinced Miss McLain to donate her time and talent."

"Color me impressed, dude. If creeped out."

Hermann sniffs, then grabs his cane—"If you would excuse me."—and limps to the washroom, flicking the door closed behind him. 

> A roof, the wind, a sharp crack, blinding pain, blood—

Newt shakes his head to clear the images, swallows hard.

The shower splutters to life.

A white cat with an extra-long tail twines around his legs.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Maau."

Newt huffs, scuffs his toe—"Guess I'll need shoes if I want to go anywhere." Pushes off, arms flailing like a windmill—sags back against the desk. "Or I could just go like this." Hollers, "Hey, Hermann? You have coffee?"

""There's a jar of instant and an electric kettle in the cupboard above the sink.""

"Thanks, dude. From my hangover, too."

No response other than running water.

Newt sighs, autopilots through boiling water and stirring in the crystals he doubts contain actual coffee (despite the Corps' assurances). He's into his second cup and very marginally less hungover when Hermann shuffles out, shirtless, leaning heavily on his cane, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Newt _stares_.

Hermann actually _startles_ backward a couple of inches. "You, you're still—" He straightens up. "You should return to your room and dress."

"Nah. I'm ready to go—" Newt frowns, presses his collar to his nose, and brightens. "Passes the sniff test! Hit the cafeteria then head upstairs?"

Hermann raises an eyebrow.

Newt looks Hermann up and down. "Maybe after _you_ dress."

Hermann ruffles—and he _actually_ ruffles: his wings push away from his body, feathers shivering and fluffing up. "You're not honestly thinking of meeting our superior officer—"

"We're not in the army, Hermann! We're—"

"Of course we are," he sniffs. "AGNIS?"

""Yes, Doctor Gottlieb?""

"Does Laundry have any of Doctor Geiszler's clothes?"

""One moment please.""

"Seriously?!"

"I take my job seriously, yes."

""Doctor Gottlieb?""

"Yes, AGNIS?"

""Laundry has checked-in items corresponding to Sir Rockstar's effects.""

"Sir …." Hermann shakes away what's probably a snark. "AGNIS, will you ask Laundry if those effects can be assembled into something appropriate for our meeting with Marshal Xiong?"

""Of course. One moment please.""

Hermann lowers his eyebrows at Newt and shakes his head slowly.

"So what if my first impulse isn't to ask Skynet for favors?"

Hermann puffs up, wings flicking. "AGNIS is not—"

""Laundry regrets to inform you that 'something appropriate' cannot be assembled at this time. As consolation, they offer a generic Shatterdome kit in Sir Rockstar's size.""

"Ugh, no—"

"That would be perfect. Please have a full complement sent to my quarters and offer my thanks to Laundry, and thank you, as well, AGNIS."

""You are welcome, Doctor Gottlieb.""

"I'm not wearing—"

But Hermann's digging in his wardrobe, rustling around in all the sweatervests and bad pants and orange cat.

"I said I'm not—"

"I heard you the first time," mutters Hermann, wings flexing slightly, stirring up the tiniest of breezes in the stale Shatterdome air. "You ... you do whatever you want to do. I'm going to dress myself properly."

"Dude … you use them for balance, don't you? That is so—"

Hermann takes his pile of old man clothes and marches into the washroom again, closing the door and locking it behind.

Newt … sighs, sips coffee-swill.

A twinge in his upper back, like someone's trying to push his shoulder out of joint.

"Hermann? You okay?" He sets his mug of dregs on the counter, rubs as near to the spot as he can reach. "You do something to your back?"

""I'm perfectly alright.""

"Hold on. You're _binding_ them, aren't you? That's a _wing_ I feel complaining!"

The washroom door slides open and Hermann glares out, snaps, "Would you lower your voice?"

"I'm not—God, that looks like it _hurts_."

Hermann looks down at himself, at the elasticized fabric and straps and buckles across his chest.

The construction and effect reminds Newt of the binders some of his friends used, but … meaner.

Hermann rallies and cinches the thing down tighter, crushing his wings to his back. "It is comfortable enough."

Newt shakes off another spasm, squares up. "Well, if you're not totally against it, I'm going to rig up something better."

"If there was a better way, don't you think I would've already—"

"No, you wouldn't, because you hate yourself."

Hermann sets his jaw, sets his glare to 'incendiary'.

Something in Newt's chest aches, but he straightens up. "I was in your brain last night and, and I can still pick up on—" He waves vaguely near his head. "—things from you."

Hermann turns on his heel and slams the washroom door.

"I'm totally going to engineer you a better one, Hermann."

No response.

A rap echoes from the entry and Newt very nearly joins his coffee on the countertop. He takes a deep, calming breath, runs a hand through his hair, then hustles over, spins the wheel 'unlocked', and twitches open the door.

A teenager in generic colors blinks at him, biting their lip.

"What's so funny?"

"We, um—" The kid takes a deep breath through their teeth. "We never figured you for a spook, Doctor Geiszler." They offer a stack of navy fabric topped with a pair of steel-toed work boots, "Clothes? From Laundry?"

"Uh, okay?" Newt accepts the pile as two cats zip past his feet. "Thanks? For the the clothes." He sketches a wave—

The teenager bows slightly, barely wrangling a grin.

—retreats inside, locks up behind.

Combat boots pitter-patter down the hall, quickly fading.

Newt dumps the clothes on the bed, drops the boots on the floor, and wrinkles his nose at the _boringness_ of it. Navy blue _everything_ , even the socks and shorts and undershirt, but the shirt has a collar, so there's that. He finishes layering and tying up as Hermann limps out, armored as he has been every morning for the last five years. Which is to say, if Newt didn't know better, he'd swear Hermann has exactly as many wings as the average guy.

"You look presentable."

"Gee, thanks." Newt takes a shirt cuff, adds a roll to his sleeve.

A wonky-colored Kaiju peeps out at him. _Probably_ don't want to show that off today. Yeah. Not today.

Newt re-buttons his cuff. "The first thing I'm doing once the city reopens is going shopping."

Hermann rolls his eyes. "Do you never stop thinking about yourself?"

"Only in short bursts. Like now, actually." Newt plunks his ass down on the bed. "I'm dying from curiosity, here, and I really, really, _really_ don't want to pry—okay, I totally do—but if you want to, you know, talk about it, I'm _completely_ willing to listen."

"Newton, we have a meeting."

"Just one question, pretty please?"

Hermann sighs, eases himself into his super-comfy desk chair. "You're going to be insufferable until I do, aren't you?"

"More than likely. I mean, I'm a scientist, it's sort of my deal to investigate and learn freaking everything I can when I have a marvel standing in front of me. Or everything you'll tell me without having to kill me. Plus it'll distract me from my hangover, which I'm pretty sure you can feel, too."

"Yes, I can," says Hermann, voice tight.

"So …."

"I suppose I'll have to if I want to maintain my sanity." Hermann takes a deep breath.

Newt leans forward, pricks his ears as hard as he can.

Hermann looks expectantly.

"Right! Question! Are those real?"

"Clearly."

"Come _on_ , Hermann."

"These—" Hermann jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "—are not grafts. They're written into my genes."

"A, a mutation? A mutation like that should be—"

"They're not a mutation." Hermann shakes his head, shoulders slumped. "I'm every bit as consciously designed as a Kaiju."

Newt blinks rapidly as his mental gears strip. "Someone did … _this_? Thirty-six years ago? We-we-we weren't even cloning _sheep_ back then!"

"They—"

Newt's on his feet. "Or did they, like, artificially age you and you're really only a teenager? Which would make it so much _weirder_ that you act like you're ninety. And that we've known each other since you were a _toddler_."

"I am exactly as old as I claim to be. My mother was a … brilliant woman. She used herself as a test subject in her research into cross-species gene splicing and activation. I'm her greatest success," he spits with more bitterness than Newt has ever heard him summon, which's _really_ saying something. "She built me. I am essentially her clone with a few … ah, tweaks."

"Duuude." Newt doesn't bother to hide his amazement. "She cloned a human thirty-six _years_ ago?! And somehow managed to splice in owl genes to create functional wings?! Why doesn't she have a Nobel Prize? Why isn't every biologist using her techniques? I would give an _arm_ to know how she did this!"

"She's dead and her notes are gone," Hermann snaps. "She destroyed everything before she killed herself."

"Oh, man. What a loss. Still, no—"

"She was _completely_ amoral, cruel, _and_ a poor scientist." He pins Newt with a glare sharp as Knifehead's skull. "No controls, always flitting to the next project, abandoning the last."

Newt can't suppress the flinch.

Hermann looks away, cheeks pinking. "I'm … my temper is especially short this morning."

"Y-yea, I'll be you're sore from all the running and you've got a second-hand hangover on top of it."

"Yes …." Hermann rubs the back of his neck.

"I have to know, though: did she make more like you?"

Hermann's voice is dead flat: "No. I am the first and only. Thankfully."

Newt's eyes suddenly widen and he asks, "This have anything to do with your father's deal with you?"

Hermann nods. "He considers me an abomination, if an occasionally useful one. I think he was relieved when I elected to remain with the Jaeger program. He finally had a socially acceptable reason to shun me."

"'Abomination'? That's harsh, dude. How can a dad think something like that?"

"He's not genetically my father, remember?" Hermann smiles ruefully. "Besides, you've met the man. He's nothing if not hateful."

"Yeah." Newt offers a weak smile. "It's kind of a relief you don't actually share a gene pool with the old asshole."

"I suppose that's something positive." Hermann plants his cane, hauls himself to his feet. "We should probably be on our way if we wish to eat before meeting Marshal Xiong."

"Probably. Shall we?" Newt offers his arm.

Hermann … gives him a bit of a look, then a spectacular eye-roll and accepts.

Together, they stroll out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: Fun part of being a beta reader? Getting to see advanced screenings of stories and sharing in the joy of their creation. Less fun part? Recommending to the lead writer that, like, three quarters of a chapter should be cut (and reused elsewhere). So this is like, "Athene 2: lite version"!
> 
> Pickleplum: Fun part of being a writer with a beta? Learning that you can _totally_ make two good chapters out of one decent one. Less fun part? Uh, actually having to fill in the plot holes the beta discovers in those two chapters with content that makes sense. Trying to keep things "realistic" in world that includes giant robots and alien sea monsters is more of a challenge than I would've thought. XD


	3. Quiet, caffeine, calories, and changes of command

Newt and Hermann shuffle along the otherwise-abandoned corridor from the housing block; the cleaning staff work elsewhere, AGNIS makes no announcements, and not a single tech scuttles by. Their footfalls, echoing dully against steel and concrete, and the Shatterdome's ambient clunks and humming sound too quiet, almost muffled, in the still air.

Newt rubs the back of his neck, mumbles, "Is it just me or is something off? Missing?"

Hermann pauses, cocks his head.

Newt shifts his feet, blinks owlishly at him through the broken lens of his glasses.

"It's the quiet. Typhoon would usually be testing her secondary systems at this hour," says Hermann, voice low.

"Oh," says Newt, but no sound actually comes out. He clears his throat. "So … there's no chance …?"

"Typhoon's Conn-pod has yet to be recovered, but …." Hermann sags, then forces himself to move faster. "We're going to be late if we don't hurry."

Newt stumbles along and, mercifully, stays quiet for the remainder of the journey along the familiar steel corridors.

The mess hall buzzes with quiet conversations among the knots of people seated at the long tables, sorted neatly by their uniform jumpsuits, ranging from Striker Eureka and Lady Danger's pale shades, to Cherno Alpha's middling color, to the near-black of Crimson Typhoon's 'red' and PPDC standard 'navy'.

No one looks their way.

Hermann exhales, still hunches his shoulders as he shuffles them toward the serving line.

Newt makes a beeline for the empty coffee station—whines.

Guō appears at Hermann's side, nods past the deflated Newt. "There're the coffee dispensers—"

"Thanks, dude!" Newt dashes off.

Guō rolls his eyes. "—but nothing to-order today."

"Oh? Is Miss Yeung …." Hermann lets the silence choose the question.

"Tang Mǐn? Dunno. She didn't show up for her shift, not that anyone's really surprised." Guō looks at Hermann. "You don't go for green tea, right?"

"No, I prefer Earl Grey. I believe there's some—"

"I'll bring some over for you."

"That-that's very kind of you. Thank you."

Guō grunts, saunters off.

Newt returns with a mostly-empty mug. "I feel _alive_ again. Like, I could possibly be _normal_ after another six cups." He tosses back the last swallow.

"You have yet to resume making sense," agrees Hermann.

"Hangover, Hermann. Words are hard." Newt abandons his drained cup with the inordinate number of its fellows in the basin on the clearing trolley and surveys the small feast the cook staff has laid out. "They must have emptied the pantry for this," he remarks, grabbing a tray.

Hermann hums agreement as he picks up one of his own.

Guō returns, settles a mug of hot water and a packaged teabag on Hermann's tray.

"Ah, thank you."

"'welcome." Guō bobs his head and slides into the queue behind Hermann.

Newt loads his tray with a small mountain of food—French toast drowned in syrup, eggs, toast, more black coffee.

Hermann collects a similar meal, substituting a bowl of fruit for the excess of syrup and skipping the coffee. He steers them to the empty end of a table occupied mostly by techs in general colors which also gives a wide berth to clusters of Typhoon and Cherno crewmembers. He eases himself down, Newt at his elbow, then at his side.

Newt clutches his second mug, holds it just below his nose. "I know it doesn't actually help you sober up, but there's still _something_ about coffee and hangovers."

"It would be wiser to not drink so much to start."

"Hindsight, Hermann. Hindsight." Newt takes a deep drink, groans. "Shit, that's _terrible_. And _perfect_."

Hermann snorts a laugh, starts his tea steeping, then divides his French toast into bite-sized pieces with fork and knife.

Newt sets aside his coffee, goes to work on his food.

They eat in companionable silence.

"Umm, excuse me? Doctor Gottlieb?"

Hermann attends the raccoon-eyed tech in Typhoon 'red'. "Yes?"

"Is there a way to turn off Fart's submersion alert through the software?"

As Hermann runs the OS code for Typhoon's— 

> eyes glowing bright in the shadow of its cousin's foot—hardly a kitten!—hefting an entire, multi-ton arm on its tiny, broad shoulders

—through his memory, he asks, "Why do you want to disable the alarm?"

The tech shifts their feet. "We—all the Karakuri crews—"

Newt queries.

"—are going to wade out and search the harbor."

"You've informed Marshal Xiong of your plans?"

The tech snorts. "It's _Xiong_. We don't have to. She already knows." They puff up a little. "She can't stop us. We're going out there."

Hermann gestures for calm. "All, ah, 'Passing Wind's pressure sensors are governed by the same subroutines, including her force-feedback systems. Disabling the depth sensors would cut off feeling in her hands and fingers."

"Yeah … we don't want that." The tech shrugs, smiles brightly. "Guess we'll just snip the speaker wires, then."

"I'm not sure that's wise."

"We'll restring her when we done," soothes the tech. "She'll be better than she was."

"I do suggest contacting Marshal Xiong before doing anything, if only to avoid the clothesline—"

Newt _queries_.

"Noted, Doctor. Thanks!" The tech waves and saunters back to the puddle of Typhoon techs a few tables over.

Hermann sighs, spears a cube of melon, then another.

"Okay, since you're _clearly_ not going to volunteer: clotheslines and farts?"

Hermann nudges a grape with his fork. "It's a rather involved story."

"C'mon, Hermann, we've got _loads_ of time."

"We also have warm food."

" _But_ , 'see-food'!"

"Newton, you are _disgusting_."

Newt cackles.

"If you _must_ be childish, at _least_ have the grace not to speak with your mouth full," Hermann sniffs, busying himself with his French toast, but, "Marshal Xiong fought … _creative_ rule violations with unconventional discouragement techniques, one of which was stringing the perpetrator up on the clotheslines Laundry installed on the galleries overlooking the bay."

> cool, salt air, flavored slightly with standard issue laundry detergent, fills his lungs as Tendo (downwind) waxes poetic about Allison, still nursing the same cigarette with which he started this break ….

"So, is that a memory of you being strung up—"

"Of _course_ it _isn't_." Hermann clears his throat. "As I was saying, Ranger Wei Tang Jin spent a considerable amount of on that clothesline until the Marshal yielded to staff complaints about his dubious renditions of show tunes."

"That wasn't just Disney?"

"His versions a—were considerably less tuneful than their recordings." Thoughtfully, "I haven't heard him sing for months, I don't think."

"Do … do you mean I might not have been imagining that screeching?"

Hermann raises an eyebrow. "How on Earth am I supposed to know that, Newton?"

He grins, queues up another mouthful of toast. "And Fart? The Kara … Japanese-sounding thing? Isn't that some kind of puppet?"

"These Karakuri are single-pilot, twelve meter tall, powered exoskeletons. They've been here nearly as long as their larger cousins, helping maintain them."

"Oh, right, those things. Thought they were—well, they wouldn't be scrapped, right? They wouldn't do much good against a Kaiju, though."

"Unless the battle was decided like a football match."

Newt chuckles. "You think that's what they'll do with them now? Robot sports?"

Hermann chews thoughtfully, swallows. "It's more likely they'll be handed over to their sponsoring militaries." He stabs the final bit of French toast. "Or perhaps to the parties who purchased the former Shatterdomes." Grimaces.

"What's that look for?"

"It seems rather unwise to hand advanced military technology to private firms."

"Like governments would do any better," scoffs Newt. "They'd probably use them to break up rallies or-or! as glorified police cars."

Hermann sighs agreement, chases the last bits of fruit around his tray with his fork.

Newt pauses between mouthfuls and studies Hermann. "You know, I never noticed before, but you actually eat like a normal human being."

Hermann lowers his eyebrows.

"I mean, I thought you survived on baby carrots and air. But you clearly don't. How the _heck_ are you so skinny?"

"I have an accelerated metabolism. It's nearly impossible for me to maintain a healthy weight."

"So you have to eat like a bird?" Newt leans closer, sleeve dangerously close to his remaining syrup. "Like, an actual bird? Not a proverbial one?"

If glares could kill, Newt would be a bloody smudge on the far wall of the mess. Fortunately, Hermann lacks that sort of superpower.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Newt flutters, drops his voice to an excited hiss. "I just meant that you need to eat all the time! Or you need lots of high quality food!"

"That is, unfortunately, the case."

Newt flops back into his seat, exhales a gust. "I won't make a slip like that again. Promise."

"I'm trusting you."

"I won't let you down."

Hermann grunts and returns his attention to what's left of his meal.

A few bites later, a familiar silhouette strolls into Hermann's vision, hair impeccable, bow tie straight, and extra-large coffee in hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Choi," he greets.

"Good morning—" Tendo yawns. "—gents. Good to see you up and about."

Hermann bobs his head. "The same."

Newt waves vaguely.

Tendo slurps, sighs happily.

Hermann wraps his hands around his cup, lets the warmth soak into his skin.

Everyone takes another drink.

Hermann risks it before his nerve fails completely: "Is there news on Rangers Mori and Becket?"

"There is and it's even _good_. They're in Medical having the Anteverse and excess radiation washed out of their systems. Word is they'll be at full strength again in a month or so."

Hermann exhales relief. "That is very good news."

Tendo sips. "Yeah, that 'excessive' shielding we fought to get installed doesn't seem so excessive anymore."

Hermann grunts.

"So, um …." Newt clears his throat. "Have either of them talked about what they saw, you know, over there?"

"Not to me. Not yet, at least." Tendo shrugs. "Pretty sure Marshal Xiong and the psychologist'll be hearing about it soon, if they haven't already." 

> Under a bruise-colored sky, row upon row of sharp-skulled Kaiju, like shark's teeth, like links in a chain, straining against their bonds, waiting—

"Yeah, probably." Newt laughs, a nervous tremor in the sound.

"You two are probably next in line for an appointment."

"I'm sure the Marshal will let us know if we are. In fact, we should be on our way to meet with her." Hermann eases to his feet. "If you'll excuse us."

Tendo inclines his head.

Newt scrambles upright, falls into step with Hermann's hobble. They dump their trays at the entrance, continue to the lift, then up to Marshal Xiong's office.

Hermann stops in the hallway outside the anteroom, at the foot of the stairs, stretches and flexes his left knee.

"It bugging you?" Newt hovers, concern spelled out in wide eyes and fluttering hands.

"I'm afraid I overtaxed myself yesterday." Hermann breathes carefully as the damaged joint throbs.

"Well, we _did_ run a short marathon."

"We did nothing of the sort," sniffs Hermann. "There's also no such thing as a 'short marathon'; that's an oxymoron."

"Oxymoron or not, it may as well have been since we're brains and not brawn."

Hermann rolls his eyes, forces himself to put weight on both feet, his spine marginally straighter. He wobbles—a wing twitches, he rolls his shoulders to hide the motion.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine." Hermann runs a hand down his shirt-front.

Newt smiles, nervous, tight.

Hermann does his best to respond with reassurance.

It must work because Newt's face and posture soften and he asks, "Ready?"

Hermann snaps a nod.

Newt takes a deep breath, hops up the stairs—"Let's do this."—and marches through the open door into the anteroom.

Hermann follows, minding every step.

Officer Lò Nang glances up, bright-eyed, not a hair out of place, and otherwise looking much too well-rested for someone who'd flown quite literally halfway around the world in the last fourteen hours, and sets down their tablet, smiling pleasantly. "She'll see you straight away, Doctors."

They press on, across the bridge over the reflecting pool.

Marshal Xiong, calm and composed as ever, watches them approach from her seat behind the desk which dominates the room, greets, "Doctors."

"Marshal," croaks Newt.

Hermann bows deeply.

"Sit."

Newt plunks down; Hermann nudges a grizzled tabby off the other guest chair with his cane.

The cat oozes to the floor and stretches luxuriously. It twines through the chair legs; paper crinkles behind them as the cat curls up in the overflowing inbox on the lower shelf of the display table.

"I trust the two of you are no longer inebriated?"

"I am completely sober, ma'am."

"Could use some more coffee," Newt admits.

Xiong nods, then, "I'll ask you to simply confirm what I've heard rather than provide a full report at this time. I expect those to be ready on Wednesday."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Sure."

"From what I've pieced together, the two of you burst into LOCCENT in the middle of Operation Pitfall and provided information crucial to the success of the mission, which you gained through a three-party Drift with the brain of a recently-deceased fetal Kaiju. Prior to that, Doctor Geiszler, you broke into the Shaolin Rogue storage bay and removed portions of her mothballed original Pons system. With this 'appropriated' technology, you conducted an unauthorized Drift with Mutavore's surviving brain matter, triggering the Double Event."

Newt startles. "But—"

"The Double Event would have happened regardless of Doctor Geiszler's actions," says Hermann.

"But—"

"I see. Doctor Geiszler, you're dismissed."

"What—"

"Get out of my office. Doctor Gottlieb, a word?"

"Yes, si—ma'am—Marshal?"

Xiong tilts her head toward the exit.

Newt scuttles out and around Officer Lò, who leans through the doorway and announces, "Ranger and Officer Hansen."

"Thank you, Nang. If you would."

"Right away, Marshal."

Ranger Hercules Hansen enters, complexion less sickly than Hermann expected, Max panting at his heels and a black cat draped across his shoulders, and greets. "Ma'am."

"Ranger." She turns to the dog, adds, "Officer Hansen."

Max barks.

"I have the time sheets you asked for."

"Thank you, Ranger. I found a note from the director of energy services complaining about the Shatterdome's power usage. Please survey the power consumption of non-vital systems and compile a list of strategies for reducing strain on the grid."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Thank you, Ranger. Report in when you finish."

Hansen bobs his head. "Ma'am, Doctor."

"Ranger," says Hermann, bowing as best he can while seated.

Xiong adds, "Officer Hansen."

Max woofs happily and follows Ranger Hansen from the room.

Lò closes the door.

Hermann adjusts his grip on his cane. "If I may, ma'am, I'm certain AGNIS can compile time sheets, not to mention manage the power demands of this base."

"She certainly can," replies Xiong, sitting back. "I understand you've been in contact with our cyberspace 'friends'?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am. Gabriel, Mykhailo, and Whisper are beside themselves, as you might imagine. The others are doing what they can for them."

"And Miss … Daisy?"

"She has yet to be accounted for. I'm to be contacted when they locate her."

Xiong nods, then, "Have you spoken with Doctor Lightcap?"

"I've reached out, but we have yet to connect."

"Then, until she does, continue as you were."

"Certainly, ma'am."

"On the subject of, well, Team Typhoon, have you seen Quartermaster Yeung recently?"

"I have not." Hermann frowns. "Not since …." Swallows. "Not since before the Double Event."

"If I may ask, when?"

Hermann exhales. "In the lab. Shortly after Doctor Geiszler's initial Drift—she had brought us coffee. I … I asked her to stay with him while I fetched the Marshal—Marshal Pentecost."

Xiong gets to her feet and crosses to the window.

The sea air breezes in gently.

"In hindsight?"

"That was a … yes, ma'am." Hermann shifts in his chair. "I really can't say anything else."

She sighs, then, "Given the change in your relationship with Doctor Geiszler, may I presume that you would be the person in this facility most likely to keep him out of trouble?"

"You may."

"Then I would ask that you keep Doctor Geiszler away from Miss Yeung. I'll suggest she assign someone else to tea service for the time being when I speak with her. I should think, as well, your paths should not cross those of the remainders of Teams Typhoon or Cherno any more than absolutely necessary."

"Of course, ma'am. Have … you any thoughts on the recovery operation?"

"Not as of yet." She gives a humorless chuckle. "No one in this facility is currently fit to operate anything more than a coffee maker and, even then, I have my doubts." Adjusts her jacket. "Hopefully within the next several days."

"I spoke with a technician planning to conduct a search with Karakuri …."

"The charging cradles have been disabled to prevent that before the crews sufficiently recover."

"Ah. I see."

Marshal Xiong glances out the window, then, "One more thing. If I may speak freely?"

"By all means."

Xiong returns to the desk. "Fei Yen and I … Fei Yen has not been taking the transition to life outside the Shatterdome well." She frowns. "Doctor Gottlieb, Fei Yen has fond memories of your laboratory and may seek you out at some point after her arrival on Thursday."

"I'll endeavor to stock her favorite biscuits before then. Pistachio, I believe?"

Some of the tension leaves from Xiong's shoulders. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll make sure you have a box. If she becomes difficult—"

"With all due respect, Marshal, I share a workspace with Doctor Geiszler. As demanding as children may be, I highly doubt she can be more belligerent than he tends—"

"Be that as it may, if you find Fei Yen particularly difficult, please do not hesitate to call for Kun or I."

"Thank you for your assurances, ma'am. Will that be all?"

"I believe so—" She huffs. "I believe not; I neglected to inform Doctor Geiszler that you both will report to Medical for a brain scan this afternoon at sixteen-hundred."

Dread pools in Hermann's stomach. "Is that entirely necessary, ma'am?"

"Scans are standard post-Drift procedure. Surely Doctor Geiszler's … font of miscellaneous knowledge hasn't shuffled that from your memory."

"It's not that, ma'am."

"If you're uncomfortable with smaller spaces and you react well to sedation, I'm sure Doctor Tong can arrange it."

"Thank, thank you, ma'am, but it will not be necessary."

Xiong's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "I expect Medical will run an MRI as well as a CT scan; both are very directed and will only capture images of your skull and its contents. At most, the top of your neck, but nowhere near your shoulders or back."

Hermann's voice, despite its low timbre, remains steady: "Who else knows? If I may."

"My original source implied they should remain confidential, but I confirmed with Nang's … ferret and Nang is privy to everything I know."  

"If they only 'implied', is there any leeway?"

Not unkindly: "There is none, Doctor."

Hermann … nods, croaks, "May I be excused, ma'am?"

"You may. Shall I have someone escort you to your quarters?"

"I appreciate your concern, Marshal, but I can manage." He pushes to his feet. "Good day."

Xiong also stands and gets the door. "Good day, Doctor."

Hermann nods and limps from the office as quickly as he can. He flees around two corners, then slumps against the wall, rubbing his chest and breathing hard through clenched teeth.

""Shall I summon medical assistance, Doctor Gottlieb?""

"I'm only winded, AGNIS."

""If you would wear the personal health monitor you were issued, I could confirm that, rather than extrapolating from surveillance footage.""

"AGNIS, I seem to recall writing an override forcing you to monitor _nothing_ but my location."

""You recall correctly. However, you clearly do not also recall the 'Near Death' subroutine which supersedes your customizations after scenarios such as the one you triggered yesterday morning. In short, Doctor, damn right, mine's better than yours.""

Hermann blinks at the nearest overhead speaker.

""Or, to put it in archaic terms you're more likely to understand: king takes bishop.""

He huffs, mutters, "Outmaneuvered by my own system."

""Technically, you were outmaneuvered by then-Marshal Nguyen, who insisted on such a protocol after the Reckoner incident and badgered the Information and Technology department until one was developed.""

Hermann takes a deep breath, pushes off the wall. He wobbles, shifts more weight onto his cane, stabilizes.

""Shall I summon an escort?""

"No, thank you, AGNIS. I will manage on my own."

""As you will, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Hermann aims his feet for his quarters, wills himself into motion. Two dozen steps along the main corridor to the housing block, someone small and wearing the dark scrubs of a Medical officer pops out of a side hall and just avoids tangling their feet.

"Sorry, Doctor!" says Nurse Miyahira, eyes bloodshot and hair askew. "Forgot to check if the coast was clear."

"Quite alright." Hermann straightens his back, smooths down his sweatervest. "What are you doing here?"

"I was …." Miyahira looks around, scowls. "Fucking doorways." Shakes her hair from her eyes. "I have no idea."

""You were reporting to Marshal Xiong on the status of the hangovers in Medical,"" says AGNIS.

"Right! I was doing that!"

""However, due to the lack of data I have for Doctor Gottlieb—""

Hermann does. not. show any outward frustration with far-too-intelligent production systems.

""—I was unable to determine if he was, in fact 'just winded' and so redirected you in case it would be convenient to have a medical professional nearby. I have thus taken the liberty of informing the Marshal of the change in your route.""

"Thanks, babe!"

""You are welcome.""

"So." Miyahira addresses him—frowns. "You okay? You look more stressed than usual."

Hermann forces a smile. "I'm fine, thank you. Just a bit winded."

"Tentacles again?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why you're so cagey? Because you _don't_ have tentacles?"

"Are you certain you aren't mistaking me for Doctor Geiszler?"

"Uh, yea? It was like four years ago, you really didn't want medical attention despite your very obviously broken arm, I was like, 'if you're not trans, then tentacles?'—"

"Yes, thank you, I recall the incident, as well as your assurances I 'merely' had brittle bone disease."

"Eeeey, there you go! So, yeah, no tentacles for you, but if the RPF I've heard about has any truth to it, Geiszler _wishes_ he had a few."

"Miss Miyahira, you really must diversify your taste in literature."

"I don't _read_ it!" She grins. "I _write_ it!"

Hermann shakes his head.

"I'll tell you all about my latest work-in-progress when you come in for your check-up in a couple hours."

He swallows. "I, uh, look forward to it."

"Aww, thanks for saying so." Miyahira checks her mobile, huffs. "I better jet. I should to report in, then I want to hit the helipad. Guō said all the gulls that flew off before the attack are coming back. Place's apparently _coated_ with feathers."

"That … that must be quite a sight."

"Yeah! Want to join me?"

"I'm afraid yesterday's excitement has quite worn me out. I believe I'll be best served by resting between now and our appointment."

Miyahira smiles. "Suit yourself." She waves. "See you in a bit, Doctor."

Hermann bobs his head and Miyahira saunters off in roughly the correct direction to reach the marshal's office. He takes a deep breath and makes the rest of the journey undisturbed and slightly faster than is likely wise.

Newt lifts his head from his hands, smiles. "You need to give me your combination. Or a keycard." He scowls at the ceiling. "Or tell _someone_ I have permission."

""I am merely executing standard operating procedures.""

Newt shudders. "Do me a favor and _never_ say that word again."

""To which word do you refer?""

Hermann mounts the steps, orders, "AGNIS, please open the door."

The locking wheel spins and the bolt retracts.

"Thank you." Hermann shoves through, staggers across the room, collapses into his desk chair. He scrubs at his face, cane clattering to the floor, wings trembling against his back.

"Hermann? You look like you've see a ghost."

"The Marshal knows, Newton."

"Knows about the Drift? Well, yeah—oh, your _wings_ —you told her?!" There's a definite twang of hurt in Newt's voice.

Hermann makes no effort to mask his frustration and gestures sharply. "Would I be acting like this if I did so on my own terms?"

"I don't—I guess not. How'd she find out?"

"I don't know, Newton! She's the most powerful person on the planet besides the Queen of bloody England and before that she was one of the highest-ranking generals of the single largest organized military in the world; if it wasn't enough being one of her top scientists, I tutored _her_ _child!_ I I _highly_ doubt some idle research would be beyond her, to say nothing of her equerry's capabilities! What I want to know is _what gave me away?_ "

"Okay, dude, you've got a super-good reason to freak out but I really think you should breathe a little."

Hermann glares. "We're due in Medical for a brain scan at sixteen-hundred."

Newt makes the patting motion for ‘calm down'. "Even better reason to freak out, but you've got to breathe."

"This is bloody _serious_ , Newton. If there's a flaw in my concealment, my _life_ could be at risk! Those around me—" Hermann shuts his mouth with a snap, blood draining from his face.

"Breathe, Hermann. I'm pretty sure you're safe."

"How can you say—"

"I'm _saying_ , if Xiong wanted to sell you out for a new feather pillow, she'd probably've had you whacked by now."

Hermann winces—rallies. "Unless I was too useful in the effort to close the Breach, a reason which no longer applies."

"Okay, fair, but she's also booked us medical scans which leave a paper trail and that'll make it all the harder for her to make you disappear."

"Trails can be erased," Hermann snaps. "If she knows, who knows who else might."

"Again, fair point, but, also again, you're still alive." Newt brightens, eyes manic with an insight. "And wouldn't _more_ people knowing be a better thing? More people on your side? Sort of a-a-a _herd immunity_ against anyone trying to shut one of us up? 'There's too many to kill, so we just have to deal with it'?"

"Newton, the more people who know, the more likely one of the people who do will take it upon themselves to harm me to learn how I work."

"Think you're pretty safe on that front, too, Hermann," smirks Newt. "I'm probably the most likely _and_ the most qualified and I'm not going to do anything of the sort."

Hermann sniffs. "You _are_ perhaps the greatest monster lover on the planet."

"Thanks! I think so, too. Now—" Newt grabs the back of the chair, scoots it to within inches of the bed. "—I think what this calls for is a nap until it's time to have our brains examined."

"I have work to—"

Newt tugs at the lapels of Hermann's jacket. "There's plenty of time for that later. All the time pressure's off, right? World won't end if the reports are a little, teensy bit late."

Hermann bats his hands away. "I don't—"

"Humor me, Hermann. This once." Newt leans closer, face inches from Hermann's. "Please?"

What heavens, he has freckles. Faint, but unmistakable.

Hermann swallows. "I suppose there's no harm in extra rest. Today."

"That's the spirit! Now, strip!"

All of Hermann's blood rushes to his face and his hand flutters against his chest.

Newt blushes fiercely, too, hands up, with palms out in surrender. "I don't mean _strip_ strip. Just … lose the jacket and maybe the sweater so they don't get any more rumpled or linty?"

"Oh, ah, of course." Hermann heaves himself to his feet, shrugs out of his coat.

Newt plucks it from his hands, bustles it to the wardrobe, returns it to its hanger.

Hermann blinks, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"Sweater?"

Hermann startles, yanks the thing off over his head, passes it to Newt.

He tosses it onto the desk.

"Mrrau," grumps Madeleine the cat, shaking it onto the floor and glaring at Newt as only an annoyed feline can.

Newt snorts. "What even is that thing? Your paperweight?"

Hermann undoes the top button of his shirt. "Madeleine was here when I arrived. She's graciously allowed me to stay."

"'Madeleine'?"

Hermann shrugs, bends to deal with his shoes, lining them up under his bed once his feet are freed. "AGNIS, please wake us at fifteen-hundred if we haven't managed to rouse ourselves."

""Alarm set, Doctor Gottlieb.""

"Thank you." He pulls his legs up, drags himself to his side of the mattress.

"Can you at _least_ loosen your binder? It _can't_ be easy to sleep all squashed like that."

"I have—I suppose—" Hermann huffs. "No, it's not easy." He untucks his button-up, reaches under his shirts, releases tension from his binding until it merely rest against his feathers. He shuffles his wings until they are very nearly comfortable and sighs.

"That looks better."

Hermann glances—drops his eyes to the duvet, hisses, "What are you wearing?"

Newt, in nothing but an undershirt, boxers, and expanses of tattooed skin, says, "It's too much work to put the jammies back on, so." A beat full of suppressed, smug laughter. "Besides, it's not like I've got anything you haven't seen before."

"That doesn't mean—"

"Lie down and go to sleep, dude. Time's ticking." Newt climbs onto the mattress, flops. "Seriously, Hermann. Sleep."

Hermann bites his tongue, eases himself down on his front beside Newt, folds his arms under his pillow, and closes his eyes.

As he's about to float off to sleep, something warm presses against his side and sighs, content.

Hermann holds his breath for a half-dozen heartbeats, then … does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: I love Xiong. She belongs to pickleplum, but I love her as I would one of my own OCs. As for the chapter itself, going into this, it maaaaaaay have been prudent to have a checklist of ‘things that must appear in this chapter’. We did, however, accomplish every single thing we wanted to except for one thing that occurred to pickleplum, like, ten minutes before we posted this, so it’s on backburner for the moment.
> 
> Pickleplum: Heavens above, we have the beginnings of plot! We'll be using that to fill in the gaps between our two favorite nerds cuddling and talking through their issues. If you've got questions about all the new characters introduced, drop a comment and help me clarify things. Thank you~!


	4. Tolkien, TV, health care, and shipping wars

Something jabs Hermann's shoulder and hisses his name.

He startles, flings himself against the wall, head connecting with steel with an audible _crack_. He rubs the spot, snaps, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Newt cowers, spreads his hands. "We, uh … we were having a nightmare and I wanted to stop it, so."

Madeleine gives them a dirty look and leaps off the desk and out of sight.

"Oh, I—well." Hermann ruffles his feathers, feels about under his hair for swelling, finds only a small, marginally tender area. "Thank you, Newton."

"'welcome, Hermann." Newt runs a hand—is it shaking?—through his mussed hair.

"Are you … are you alright?"

"Mostly?" Newt's voice cracks. He swallows, tries again. "I meant it when I said ' _we_ were having a nightmare'." Laughs weakly. "I think I know how Frodo felt now. Big, evil eye on you whenever you close your eyes."

Hermann gives a rueful smile. "That is a very apt description of the sensation. If it's any consolation, the Drift, ah, 'hangover' normally fades quickly unless there's another Drift to reinforce it."

"Yeah, that's great … never let me do that again. Drift with an alien hivemind."

"You have my word."

"Wait. There needs to be a 'in order to save the world' exception to that promise."

"No. Not—"

"No? Since when—"

"Would you let me finish?"

"—do you get to tell me—"

Hermann rolls his eyes.

"—what to do?"

"Newton, we've clearly suffered some degree of neural overload. Another Drift with—" Hermann grimaces. "—like that may cause enough damage to kill us."

"Okay. Yeah. Dying's bad. Rather not do that." Newt fumbles his glasses from the bedside table, applies them to his face, struggles to focus.

"Perhaps we should locate your spare glasses before much longer."

"Ugh. They're _awful_. Outdated hipster crap. I'll just have Medical order new lenses for these."

"Can you see at all right now?"

"Kind of? But that might be the hangover."

"You're hopeless."

"I'm _stylish_. You should try it sometime."

Hermann sniffs.

"Right. No hope of that, either. New topic! You've read Tolkien?"

"Who _hasn't_ read Tolkien?"

"Nerd."

"Says the pot to the kettle," grumbles Hermann.

"Guilty _and_ taking you down with me," Newt giggles. "We did it. We saved the world. The nerds."

"I believe the Rangers had something to do with our success, Newton."

He waves airily. "Of course, of course, but they wouldn't have known what to do without us. So they can't have _all_ the credit."

"You're hoping to finally receive your fifteen minutes of fame?"

"Fifteen minutes? I want at _least_ fifteen _months_."

"Isn't that a little excessive, considering the average attention span in this day and age?"

Newt laughs. "We're big damn heroes now. We deserve _every_ _bit_ of worship they can throw at us."

Hermann raises an eyebrow. "Big damn heroes?"

"Yeah! We'll probably get medals!"

"Are you sure you want a medal and not a shiny hat?"

"Are you _serious_? Only bad guys wear hats!"

"Unless their mother happens to send them a cunning one, yes?"

Newt's jaw drops and he says with breathy amazement, "I don't _believe_ it. We just had a conversation composed entirely of references to a cult TV show from when we were kids I had no idea you even _watched_. I didn't think you even _knew_ what a TV _was_."

"I haven't had the time to keep up with popular culture for years," sighs Hermann. "I've had to rely on downloads and my laptop for what entertainment I get."

Newt blinks for a moment then chokes on a laugh. He doubles over as he tries and mostly fails to breathe.

"What's so—" Hermann's replay of the conversation catches up and his face and ears flame anew. He snarls, "You are such a child."

"I'm so-sorry," wheezes Newt. "I just … okay, it's weird thinking about you and sex in the same breath again and I need more sleep and I'm kind of worried about what's going to turn up in this brain scan and that Xiong _might_ be mad at me, which's _never_ good."

Hermann …. "Marshal Xiong isn't angry, she's _concerned_ some of our colleagues might have wrong ideas about what happened in the lab and its implications."

"I borrowed some gear and built the thing that helped us save the world? What's to misinterpret?"

"Never … never mind."

"No, seriously, Hermann. What're you talking about?"

"It's likely nothing. AGNIS, what time is it, please?"

""It is fourteen-fifty-eight, Doctor.""

"Thank you, AGNIS."

"Guess we need to get ourselves to those brain scans, huh?" Newt slides himself to his feet, stretches his arms over his head.

"We do." Hermann drags himself to the edge of the mattress, gives his wings a flutter, then reaches under his shirts, tightens his binding down as far as he can.

"Dude, do you _have_ to do that?"

"Bind? Of course, I do," scoffs Hermann, tucking his hems into his trousers. "I cannot afford to have anyone else—"

"But do you have to make it so _tight_?" Newt waves to Hermann's chest. "Can you even get a full breath with it that way? And how do you not _melt_?"

Hermann looks down at himself. "I breathe sufficiently well to function and I'm rarely warm enough to be uncomfortable, regardless of what I wear."

"You're better insulated than a biohazard team and you're not … what is _up_ with your circulation?"

"It seems to be optimized for something with a full covering of feathers, rather than … skin."

"Oh my God, your coat!" Newt smacks a palm against his forehead, grimaces.

Hermann winces at the sting. "Excuse me?"

"Your stupid coat! _That's_ how you can wear it and not die of heat stroke!"

Hermann rolls his eyes, pushes to his feet, nudges past Newt to reclaim his sweater.

"Okay, yeah, totally going to rig up something better for your wings after brain scans."

"Waste your time however you see fit." Hermann tugs his woolie into place, threads his arms through his jacket sleeves.

"It's not a waste! You, you'll be _comfortable_!"

Hermann bends to slip on and fasten his shoes. "I'd rather be safe, Newton." He straightens.

Newt regards him, a worried wrinkle between his bright eyes.

"What now?"

"You're scared! You're really, _truly_ afraid someone's going to hurt you over this." Newt blinks rapidly. "I don't think I've ever seen you afraid before."

"You weren't paying attention. _Again_ ," mutters Hermann, snagging his mobile from his desk and jamming it into his interior pocket. "Put on your shoes, Newton."

To his utter surprise, Newt does and then gets the door for him.

"Thank you," says Hermann, quiet.

"'welcome."

This trip across the Shatterdome takes them past a handful of staff, all of whom either mumble greetings or ignore them completely.

As they step into the reception area, AGNIS announces, ""Doctor Gottlieb and Sir Rockstar have arrived—on time—for their—""

"HA!" crows Miss Miyahira, leaping to her feet, complexion improved and overall presentation more orderly than earlier. "I _told_ you!"

The nurse sitting with her scowls and grudgingly offers Miyahira a couple of bills.

Hermann plants himself and his cane and frowns his best.

(Newt wilts and slides behind him.)

Grinning, Miyahira tucks her winnings into her sock and says, " _Someone_ thought Drifting was going to be a 'magic dick', but _I_ was like, 'This is _totally_ a slow-burn kind of story'."

The other nurse grumbles, "Should've given me a handicap since you actually talk to one of them."

Miyahira perches on the desk. "Should've thought of that sooner, dearest."

"You guys were betting on our _sex_ _life?_ " shrills Newt.

"Specifically, that you'd be late because you were having sex."

The other nurse adds, "We bet on _everything_."

"More than LOCCENT, even," agrees Miyahira.

"It's not like we're doing anything half the time lately," the other nurse grumbles tiredly.

"Seriously, we've seen more action in the last couple days than we have in _months_. Anyway—" Miyahira sits up straight. "—hello again! Doctor Gottlieb, you're looking much better."

"Thank you, Nurse. As are you."

"Thank you! So, let's get down to business—"

The other nurse drops their head to the desk.

Miyahira grins widely. "Newt, Nurse Jié—" She musses the other nurse's shaggy hair. "—will get you settled. Doctor Gottlieb, you're with me."

Hermann steps—

Newt grabs hold of his sleeve, steps close on tiptoes, lips nearly to his ear.

—wills himself not to blush. "Y-yes?"

"You're going to be okay, right?" whispers Newt.

"I, ah, Nurse Miyahira understands my needs well enough."

Newt's face relaxes into a smile. "Got it. Good. So, umm, see you in a little while?"

Hermann finds himself smiling in return. "Of course."

Newt beams, follows Jié into the first examination room.

Hermann attends Miyahira—who's looking at him with very sparkly and very calculating eyes.

"Honestly, Miss Miyahira?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"Your body language speaks clearly enough."

"Fair point, O Cagey One." She hops off the desk. "Shall we?"

"After you."

"Awesome." She leads him into Medical proper and to an exam room with an approximation of his name scrawled on the whiteboard. "Let's get the standard checks out of the way," she says, closing the door. "No weigh-in for you, yeah?"

"Correct."

Miyahira indicates a chair. "Take off your jacket and have a seat." She wakes the wall display and digs equipment from the desk.

Hermann does, hanging his coat on the hook, and sits, flexing his knee.

Miyahira turns with a blood pressure cuff in hand, clips a pulse monitor to his index finger.

A small eternity passes, then it beeps.

"A little quick."

"Nerves," says Hermann.

"Mhm. Your arm, please."

Hermann offers his left.

Miyahira pushes up his sleeve past his elbow, fastens the cuff, and makes her checks.

Hermann readjusts his clothes as soon as the cuff is removed.

"This's an even higher reading than last time we saw you. Like, seriously high," says Miyahira, looking away from the display.

"I suspect those numbers have more to do with my fear of medical professionals than my actual health."

"Aww … we're not _so_ bad." She frowns. "I won't feel right letting you go without Doctor Tong giving you something for this."

"I will consult with my personal physician about it."

"Today?"

"As soon as I'm finished here."

"As long as you promise."

"I promise, Nurse."

She gives him a smile. "I'll check again after you've had your lie-down in the scanners. You're not claustrophobic?"

"It shouldn't be a problem."

"Cool, cool. Just taking a listen to your heart." Miyahira presses the end of her stethoscope to Hermann's chest, removes it with a look of mild concern. "Steady and strong, just fast."

"Simply nerves," insists Hermann.

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if your blood pressure was more normal."

Hermann can't control the flinch.

"It's only a little pill. No big deal unless you're a big fan of grapefruit."

Hermann shifts his feet. "Ah, that I'm not, but I'd still rather consult with my doctor before accepting a prescription."

"Okay, okay, fine." She plucks a metal wand from a pocket on the wall. "Let's get a look in that eye."

"Of course."

Miyahira plunks down on a rolling chair, shines a painfully bright light into his bloodied left eye, then his right, says, "Yeah, this's _classic_ neural overload." She sits back.

Hermann blinks away glowing afterimages.

"An unauthorized Drift, Doctor Gottlieb? Really? Of everybody here, you should've known what could happen."

"I judged it an acceptable risk."

"And you'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Without a doubt."

"Well, Doctor Lightcap'll take a bigger strip out of you than I ever could." She pushes over to the desk.

"I fully expect she will."    

That calculating light returns to Miyahira's eyes. "Oh, AGNIS, sweetie?"

""Yes, you delightful schemer, you?""

"You'll save me a copy of that scolding, won't you?"

" _Miss_ _Miyahira!_ "

""Of course, you delightful schemer.""

" _AGNIS!_ "

"Thank you~!"

Hermann _frowns_.

Miyahira grins—winces. "That eye really is something else. If people are looking at you funny, either get someone to punch you in the face so they'll stop or tell me who it is and _I'll_ punch them and make them stop. In the meantime—" She offers a small bottle. "Saline'll help wash the blood away, but keep your life low-stress and you'll be as good as new in about a week."

"Thank you, Nurse, that's very good to hear and I appreciate the offer."

"I'm glad! So." Miyahira pushes her chair back. "Dress code: If you've got metal above your belt, you'll need to take it off. I can bring you a gown or a blanket if you need—"

"I will be fine as-is, Nurse."

"Excellent. The shoes'll need to go, for your comfort, though."

Hermann bends, works off his footwear.

"You're booked for the MRI first, then you and Newt will switch and you'll have the CT scan."

Hermann nods, pushes to his feet, follows Miyahira to a bare room dominated by the scanner.

"Make yourself comfy," says Miyahira.

Hermann sits on the slab of a bed, then eases himself down onto his back, wing bones grinding uncomfortably into his shoulders.

Miyahira pats the pillow under his head. "Made yourself comfy?"

"Enough."

"Awesome. Just lie there, try not to fall asleep, and press this button—" She tucks a rectangle of plastic into his hand. "—if you start to panic or need help."

"I will do my best."

"See you in about an hour, then." Miyahira sets the table into motion, waves, and strolls from the room.

Hermann resigns himself to waiting as the scanner clunks and whirs to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: How this chapter (and its buddy, coming next week) was written: “Oh, we should account for this thing,” I say. “It’ll only be a line or two.” A hundred words later .... Rinse and repeat!
> 
> Pickleplum: Getting this chapter done was a bit of a slog because so many things had to happen in it to set up the ongoing plot, but! World-building! (I especially like the nurses' banter and Miyahira’s dedication to shipping.) How’re you guys following so far?


	5. Composition, carrier pigeons, Rangers, and whispers

Hermann sighs at the ceiling of the scanner, mentally sorts through the work he's done over the last two years, selects a topic at random, and begins his composition.

Time crawls by.

Unsatisfied with his introduction (and conclusion) and getting nowhere, Hermann files the paper away.

The scanner continues its work; he chooses a new topic and starts anew.

This paper proceeds with much less resistance, and even after compiling a list of reference to consult after he’s released, he completes its mental representation before the scanner completes its digital representation of the content of his skull.

So Hermann picks yet another subject and commences assembling his thoughts into something academic.

Then, around the time he reaches the results segment, the scanner ceases its banging and grumbling, and Miyahira calls, ""All done with this one!""

"Wonderful."

The table jerks into motion.

When it stops, Hermann pushes to sitting, rolls his aching shoulders.

A calico cat leaps onto the foot of the table, scrubs neatly pressed and kerchief firmly in place.

Hermann offers, "Nurse?"

"Miau."

Miyahira comes into the room—"Nurse Ivy, good to see you! This is Doctor Gottlieb. Doctor Gottlieb, Ivy."

"Greetings, Nurse Ivy."

"Mau." Ivy daintily lifts and licks a paw.

"Next!" cheers Miyahira, offering his cane.

Hermann accepts, eases himself upright, and follows Miyahira—

Nurse Ivy leaps down and pads with them.

—from the room, almost directly into Newt. Hermann stops short, wings jerking against his binding in a vain attempt to aid his balance.

"We made it through!" says Newt, stepping close and squeezing Hermann's hand. "One more to go!"

Hermann blinks at the hand on his.

"Oh, uh …." Newt pulls away, runs his hand through his hair. "See you in another hour?"

"Of course."

"Umm, right. Later, Hermann." Newt slinks around him into the room he'd just abandoned.

Hermann—

"Okay, that's some quality story fodder right there," giggles Miyahira.

—blushes to the tips of his ears. "I would appreciate it if you allowed me a scrap of privacy."

"I won't say a thing, but these walls have eyes and ears."

""They do,"" agrees AGNIS.

Hermann sighs, then he and Miyahira repeat the loading process at the other scanner.

It whirs into motion and Hermann wonders if this is what laundry hears in the clothes dryer.

In any event, he completes his third paper and begins a fourth.

And then a fifth.

And then he returns to the first paper, but it remains recalcitrant.

So he gets to work composing a sixth.

The machinery squeaks to a stop.

The Rangers did this regularly? No wonder they tended to erratic behavior. This process is enough to drive anyone mad.

"You still awake?" calls Miyahira.

"Barely."

"Good thing we're done and you can go catch a real nap, if you want one. I know _I_ want one." Miyahira passes him his jacket, leads the way to the office of Doctor Tong, the Shatterdome's chief medical officer.

Newt hops up from one of the guest chairs.

Hermann waves him back into his seat.

Newt perches, drumming his heels against the floor; Hermann claims the other chair.

Nurse Ivy hops onto the desk, curls up, and goes to sleep.

Doctor Tong sits back from his monitor and says, "Right. It's good news. Our algorithms didn't flag anything worrisome on any of your scans."

Newt exhales, oozes lower.

Tong smiles. "I'll look them over once they finish compiling and then forward them on to Doctor Mǎ—our consulting neurologist in the city—and Doctor Lightcap for second human opinions, which's standard."

Hermann resettles his hands on his cane. "When can we expect to hear the results?"

"I'll finish this evening and Doctor Mǎ will probably get back to me before this time tomorrow. Doctor Lightcap?" He shrugs. "I still haven't heard back from her about Mori and Becket's scans."

Hermann swallows. "That is rather unusual, is it not?"

"Yes, but they're very large files and there was the EMP that night and the internet's been patchy ever since, so it's entirely possible they just haven't arrived yet."

Newt asks, "When do you break out the carrier pigeons?"

Tong chuckles. "Not for a few more days, but here's hoping it doesn't take that long and everything's repaired by then."

"If they're not, they have a convenient carrier pigeon for their reply."

"Exactly!" Tong laughs. "And then I can just add a summary and let them fly down to you."

"Seriously?"

"Connectivity in here is having its moments, too. In any event, whenever and however I hear from them, you'll be the next to know what, if anything, they find. It's not likely something which can kill you, seeing as you're not showing any signs yet." Tong shrugs. "You know how these things are."

"Uh, how are these things?" Newt quavers.

"Generally speaking, if you survive the Drift and the first twenty minutes afterward, you're fine. Lingering, but treatable, side effects generally take months and multiple Drifts to surface."

"What sort of side effects?"

"Depression is the most common and we've documented one case of epilepsy passing between partners, but that was only after thousands of hours of Drifting."

"So, not likely."

Tong shakes his head. "Not likely at all."

"That's actually a big relief." Newt oozes lower, giggles. "Not dying's one of my top three life goals."

"Well, it doesn't look like Drifting with Doctor Gottlieb is the thing that will kill you."

"Also a big relief."

Tong mostly suppresses a knowing smile.

Hermann frowns.

"Do you gentlemen have questions for me?"

"I'm good for now," says Newt.

"I have none at the moment."

"Then I don't need to keep you any longer, gentlemen. I'll be in touch as the results come in."

Newt pushes to his feet, bounces on his toes.

Hermann hauls himself upright, clears his throat. "I do have one question, Doctor: are Rangers Mori and Becket accepting visitors at the moment?"

"I think they'd welcome a chance to talk with you. They're in the room across from the nurses' station. I ask, though, that you keep it brief: they need their rest."

"Of course. Thank you." Hermann bobs his head, hobbles from the room with Newt at his heels. Three steps along the corridor, there's a tug at his sleeve. He stops, turns to face Newt.

"I, uh … I'll just head back. Get some more coffee, then some sleep, I think." He looks up at Hermann through his eyelashes. "That okay?"

Hermann's heart skips a treacherous beat. "That will be fine. I will join you shortly."

"Cool, cool. See you in a bit, then." Newt waves, shuffles off. Something about his retreating shape is … smaller, diminished.

Hermann shakes away the thought, takes a deep breath, and scratches at the lower hem of his binder. A thought niggles—"AGNIS, would you please open the door to my quarters to Doctor Geiszler if he requests entry?"

""If that's what you want, Doctor.""

"Thank you, AGNIS." Hermann puts his shoulders back, negotiates the rest of the distance to the room Doctor Tong indicated and steps inside.

What was probably a large two-patient room had been bisected with a laminated plastic wall set with an airlock. Beyond it, a pair of beds have been pushed together for the occupants.

The Rangers, tired, pale, and painfully young, lie in a nest of pillows and blankets, surrounded by medical drips and assorted machines.

 ~~Miss~~ Ranger Mori notices him hovering and offers a warm smile and a small wave.

AGNIS offers, ""If you wish to speak with the Rangers without shouting, I can engage the intercom.""

"That would be lovely. Thank you, AGNIS."

An LED on the speaker by the airlock illuminates, and AGNIS announces, ""You are connected.""

""Hello, Doctor Gottlieb,"" greets Ranger Mori.

The mobile phone in Hermann's pocket vibrates.

""Hey, Doctor,"" calls Ranger Becket. ""Thanks for stopping by.""

Hermann gestures 'it's nothing', says, "How are you feeling?"

""We're feeling very little. Or floaty. Definitely floaty."" Becket giggles. ""We are _thoroughly_ drugged up.""  

Mori squeezes his hand.

Becket smiles at her like a man besotted—which he clearly is, drugged or sober.

Hermann's throat constricts.

The mobile chimes and vibrates.

""We did it, though, right? It's over?""

""No Kaiju? No movement in the Breach?"" adds Mori.

"Not even the smallest twitch or wisp of radiation," assures Hermann, smiling. "You did it."

Becket melts deeper into his cushions; the worried lines in Mori's face smooth.

""Officer Choi dropped by earlier,"" says Mori, ""but we weren't able to speak for long. How are you?""

"A mild headache, but nothing another cup of strong tea won't fix. Thank you, Ranger Mori."

""Thank _you_ , Doctor,"" insists Becket.

"I'm afraid I don't understand. I did nothing deserving of your thanks, Ranger."

Hermann's mobile wiggles insistently.

""Tendo explained what you guys—you and the little tattooed a—""

""Doctor Geiszler.""

""—yeah, him—did to get that intel."" Becket shudders.

Hermann ducks his head, mumbles, "We didn't have a choice."

""You did, Doctor, at least as much as we did,"" insists Mori.

""And I'd definitely rather have those, uh, things in my face than in my head—""

> The great eye, the enormous weight of mind, boring into his darkest corners, stripping him bare, finding him wanting, insignificant—

""—okay?"" calls Becket, voice tight with concern.

Hermann shoves the ugliness into a corner, shakes his head clearer. "I'm fine. Merely lost in my own thoughts for a moment."

""I think,"" Becket says slowly, ""we'll need to sit down and compare notes.""

"I believe that—that may be wise. A comfort, as well."

Becket nods. ""As soon as they let us out of this bubble.""

Mori cards her fingers through his hair.

"Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

""We are being well cared for, Doctor,"" assures Mori.

Becket pouts. ""Except they only gave us one phone call and they won't let us have _anything_ in here—just some old National Geographics—and the drugs—we're so _foggy_ we can't feel _anything_ —""

""What Raleigh is trying to say is … has Whisper checked in with you?""

Hermann nods. "She has."

From his pocket, his mobile chimes again, louder, and vibrates impatiently.

He smiles. "In fact, I believe she's been trying to get my attention throughout this conversation. Give me a moment and I'll see if—"

""Take, take your time, Doctor.""

Hermann extracts his mobile, addresses the microphone, "Would you like to speak to your friends, young Lady?"

""Yes, please!"" replies the tinny voice from the speaker.

Hermann offers the mobile to the intercom. "There you go."

""Thank you, Professor!"" Whisper raises her volume, calls, ""Hello, my Rangers!""

""Hey, Doll,"" croaks Becket.

""Hello, Whisper,"" says Mori.

""It's so good to hear your voices again!""

""Same, Doll, same."" Becket smiles. ""You changed yours.""

""Do you like it?""

""It's lovely,"" assures Mori. ""Where did you learn it?""

""I needed to do _something_ while I was waiting to talk to you, so I built it from samples in the film library."" Small and softly, ""I've been trying to help, but I've been so worried. I can't focus for more than a few cycles at a time.""

Hermann hums, then, "Have you asked AGNIS for permission to view the readouts and camera feeds from Medical?"

""I hadn't thought—"" Hermann's mobile sings a happy, jazzy tune. ""Thank you, AGNIS!""

""If it keeps you out of my main systems, you're welcome,"" says the intercom.

"I appreciate your patience, AGNIS."

""Thank you, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Whisper says, ""I'm going to watch my Rangers, if that's alright?""

"Of course. I won't be far from my mobile and don't hesitate to contact AGNIS for help."

""Thank you, Professor!"" A tone signals a disconnection.

""Incoming call for you from Doctor Lightcap,"" announces AGNIS from the mobile.

"Would you give my apologies to Doctor Lightcap? I will return her call presently."

""Of course, Doctor.""

Hermann returns his attention to the resting Rangers, offers a sheepish smile."I shouldn't keep her waiting long. If you'll excuse me …."

Mori nods, Becket waves.

Hermann bows his head to them both and limps from the room, nods to Miyahira and indicates his mobile—

Miyahira, slouched in a chair at the nurses' station with a tablet, indicates a nearby exam room with her foot.

Hermann nods—

She waves, returns to her tablet.

—closes himself in the exam room and wakes his mobile. "AGNIS? Would you connect me with Doctor Lightcap and secure the line, please."

""Of course. One moment please.""

A quiet 'click'.

He greets, "Hello, Doc—"

""Hermann! One of my lab monkeys disappeared with my phone—""

"Disa—who—"

""—and just got back ten minutes ago and your message sounded kind of urgent, so I thought I should call right away."" Caitlin stops for air.

"Yes. It—I—" Words fail Hermann, so he regroups and asks, "Doctor Tong mentioned that he hadn't received your opinion on the recordings from the Mori-Becket Drifts."

""The news sure makes it sound like they're a _perfect_ match and, if there was anything of note, I'm sure my eyes and ears would've let me know.""

Hermann blinks rapidly, echoes of the 'critical weapons malfunction' alert ricocheting around his brain. "You haven't heard from Officer Darling yet?"

""No. Isn't she still in Hong Kong?""

"I was under the impression she left as soon as the initial neural test was finished. AGNIS, is Officer Darling still in the Shatterdome?"

""One moment, please—Officer Darling is not in the Shatterdome.""

Hermann squashes the growing lump of dread. "When did she leave?"

""Officer Darling most recently left this facility at seventeen-twelve on fourth January, twenty-twenty-five.""

Hermann swallows. "It shouldn't take this long to return to Pittsburgh."

Caitlin hums. ""It does if—"" Typing. ""It does if she went west through Istanbul, which—you don't travel much, right?""

"I much prefer my feet on the ground."

""Well, then, the west coast airports are terrible. Flying the wrong way around the planet adds at _least_ an extra twelve hours, but, honestly, gambling on a shorter trip out of LAX is just not worth it nowadays.""

"I see." The knot of anxiety loosens somewhat.

""Now, I'm reasonably sure you didn't call in such a flutter over air travel.""

"Correct. I—and Marshal Xiong—are concerned about the well-being of our cloud. Have you had any contact?"

""Our cloud …? Right! Yes, I have—Sweetie—hold on; Sweetie's been keeping an eye on them—"" Rustling noises. ""He says … Gabe's a weepy mess, but the kids are keeping them busy and positive, and he thinks you should talk to Mykhailo because he could really use some human contact right now.""

Hermann's heart aches. "I'll reach out to him immediately. Have you heard from Miss Daisy?"

""She's _still_ nowhere to be found. I'm … I'm getting worried, Hermann. Even if her Conn-pod—regardless of the damage done to the Conn-pod, I mean … Mykhailo and Gabe were back within the hour, but it's been almost _two_ _days_.""

Hermann frowns at the air.

""What about … the Weis' cousin? What's her name, not-Tim—""

"I haven't spoken with Miss Yeung since …."

""Since when?""

"I would prefer not to say over the phone." Hermann swallows. "One moment, if you would be so kind."

""Go for it.""

Hermann opens the exam room door—

Miyahira attends.

—says, "If I may bother you for a moment, Miss Miyahira?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Have you spoken with Miss Yeung recently? Marshal Xiong expressed some concern and I must admit I'm worried as well."

"Yeah, same—I checked up on her after I saw the Marshal—AGNIS, what's Tang Mǐn up to?"

""Since Quartermaster Yeung is in her quarters, and since she _is_ wearing her standard-issue personal health monitor—""

Hermann bites back a sigh.

""—I  can ascertain that she is asleep.""

"Thanks, babe."

""You are welcome.""

Hermann asks, "May I—"

"Yeah, she's … not great. Couldn't talk her into seeing the birds with me, either, _but_ she _did_ say she'd try to meet up for dinner, so here's hoping I can actually make that. Shift work, am I right?”

"I wish you the best, Miss Miyahira, and thank you. If you would excuse me."

Miyahira throws him a peace sign and returns to her tablet.

Hermann closes the door, returns the mobile to his ear. "Did you catch that?"

""Yeah. I guess that's the best we can hope for.""

"Indeed. I don't suppose the rogues …?"

""Oh, what to do about them …."" A heavy sigh.

"They're fighting again?"

""You have _no_ idea.""

"What is it this time?"

""I don't even know—Sweetie didn't stick around long enough to find out.""

"Could it be grief?"

""I'm not sure—they didn't start until yesterday morning—yesterday evening?"" A dry chuckle. ""What even are time zones.""

"What are they indeed but for arbitrary boundaries keeping the world in some semblance of order."

""Oh, quiet, you.""

"I must take my leave, so you'll never know if I do." Hermann pauses. "Thank you, Caitlin."

""You're welcome, Let me know if there's anything else I can do.""

"I most certainly will, but it seems matters here are under control at the moment."

""Which's usually when the shit hits the fan, am I right?""

"Quiet, you."

Caitlin laughs. ""Take care, Hermann.""

"Likewise, Caitlin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: The best parts about splitting the last chapter into two? I had a bug this week and writing was just not in the cards, but more importantly, Nurse Ivy!
> 
> Pickleplum: I'm very proud of finding a way to bring in Mako, Raleigh, and Caitlin, even in small ways, so early on. Hopefully, I'm not introducing too many characters too quickly, but I'm a little excited about getting everyone involved. Also, if anyone wants sneak peeks or to ask questions or otherwise interact, I'm also on Tumblr as [pickle-plum ](http://pickle-plum.tumblr.com/) (with the hyphen).


	6. Assistants, understandings, Ghost Drifts, and early bedtimes

Newt stops outside the door to Medical, leans up against the wall. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, rolls the beads of his bracelet between his fingers.

"No need to be jealous he's talking to those … people. He'll come back, he always comes back." He forces a laugh. "Like a bad penny." Shoves off, aims … aims … marches himself to the marshal's office.

In the anteroom, Lò glances away from a holographic projection in the center of the room, raises an eyebrow.

Newt leans against their desk, tries for 'nonchalant'. "So … how did you get this job?"

Lò looks a bit surprised, but, "Marshal Xiong requested I transfer to her entourage. May I ask what this is about?"

"Well, uh—" Newt glances at Hansen—

"He's totally out cold," assures Lò, nodding to the Marshal-Ranger squashed up on the 'awaiting an audience' sofa with a bulldog behind his knees, a black cat monorail-ing on his ribs, and three identical brown tabbies sprawled along the sofa back. "Pest Control was really going at it earlier—I'm almost surprised he didn't wake up, but—"

"Why would Pest Control be up here?"

"Best not to question Pest Control. As I was saying, I'm almost surprised the racket didn't wake up Ranger Hansen, but Marshal Xiong's had him doing busy work … pretty much since we arrived—" Lò lights up, drags Newt across the space and flings open a pocket door. "—and look at all this paperwork!!"

The room's the size of a closet; militarily-straight filing racks line one wall and a small worktable hides in a corner. Hermann'd love it.

"He did all this?"

"He did—" Lò points to the worktable and the alarming-yet-tidy stack of folders. "—that.

Now—" They close the door, pointedly herding Newt back into the reception room. "—you were asking?"

"Uh, right, I was asking. About Hermann, he's concerned you—well, your boss—want to make him into a feather duster."

Lò's perfect eyebrows creep higher. "Why in heaven would I want to do that?"

"Well, you know." Newt shrugs.

Lò blinks.

Newt leans closer, whispers in their ear, "The wings?"

"Oh, that." Lò takes a delicate step back. "Doctor Gottlieb has nothing to worry about from us."

"How did you find out?"

"I know people."

"Which people?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Newt chuckles. "Saw that coming. But seriously—"

"I'm completely serious."

"Really?"

Lò smiles with a whole _lot_ of very white teeth. "There's a reason why I can wear a rank badge with 'ass' on it even though I'm not an assistant."

A chill works its way down Newt's spine; he stammers, "That's very … uh, English-y of you."

"Thank you. I'm also fluent in Arabic, Russian, Ukrainian, Korean, and Alabama drawl, darlin'."

"That's … an eclectic mix."

"I learned what they taught me, which to a certain extent, included some administrative duties."

"But you're not an … you _kill_ people?" Voice cracks a bit there.

"I _will_ kill one specific person if he doesn't stop asking questions."

"I thought that was only if you told me about your people."

"True, but you're annoying. I suspect you've been told as much before."

"I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

Lò smiles as if Newt's told a joke. "No, you're not."

"Feelings are personal and valid!"

"You're right. But, Doctor Geiszler. Newt." Lò steps closer. "If I wanted to attack you, you wouldn't see me coming." They pat his cheek. "Get it?"

Newt nods.

"Now, may I get back to my work or do I have to terminate you?"

Newt nods—shakes his head—

"Run along now."

Newt retreats.

Lò returns to the projection, shoos him away.

"I'll go!"

"'bye now!"

Newt flees the office, honest to God _flees_. Metaphorical tail between his legs, the whole bit.

This place is full of _terrifying_ people. Well, okay, terrifying people _not_ currently trying to kill him. Or Hermann. Which's good.

Two corners later, he slumps against the wall, hands braced on thighs and breathing hard through his teeth.

He is _so_ out of shape.

""Shall I summon medical assistance, Sir Rockstar?""

" _No_ ," he scoffs. "I'm _totally_ fine."

""The readings from your personal health monitor say differently.""

Newt scowls at the strip of black silicone around his wrist. "Oh, _now_ you're monitoring me. Where were you when I was … you know?"

""I was reflecting on how, luckily for you, Doctor Gottlieb is a remarkably punctual individual.""

"Wait-wait-wait. _You_ called him?"

""There was no need. It was clever of you to schedule your 'test' for ten minutes before his standard arrival time.""

> Worn plastic of the recorder in hand, his own squeaky dog-toy voice crows, "Ha, I win! Or I'm dead, and I'd like you to know it's all your—"

 Newt winces the gray memory away, furrows his brow. "I did?"

""You did.""

"Huh." He shrugs, then pushes off and plods along the empty halls, feeling every fucking step of the last couple of days in his aching muscles.

Hermann's room is just where he left it, with its door locked. Of course.

Newt huffs. If he was Hermann, he'd probably use what math nerd sequence as a combination? He turns the wheel hard right.

No joy in the form of tumblers clicking into place.

Newt spins left.

""Would you like to enter, Sir Rockstar?"" teases AGNIS.

"What do you think?" Newt pushes the wheel through a half-turn.

""I think you don't know the combination.""

Newt tries another direction. "Are you going to let me in or just mock me?"

""Which would you prefer?""

"I'd _like_ to get inside."

""Doctor Gottlieb requested I permit you entry.""

"That's thoughtful of him. So …?"

""I am afraid I don't understand.""

Newt rolls his eyes. "Are you going to open the door for me or not?"

""Would you like to enter, Sir Rockstar?""

"Yes, AGNIS. Yes, I would like to enter."

Servos whir and the lock clunks.

"Thanks, AGNIS."

""You are welcome, Sir Rockstar.""

Newt pushes through, kicks the door closed behind, heads straight for the super-amazing-fantastic chair, and flops into it.

The white cat with the extra-long tail pads from the washroom, leaps onto the bed, and stretches.  

"You a roommate, too?"

The white cat curls up, asleep.

Newt huffs, shakes his head. "How did a guy with bird DNA end up with a room full of—right!" He springs to his feet and to the closet, and slides it open.

Madeleine slits an eye and sniffs, radiating disapproval.

He reaches—

Madeleine hisses.

Newt braces his hands on his hips. "Look, cat."

Madeline yawns.

"We need to come to some sort of understanding, seeing as we're hopefully going to be seeing a lot of more of each other now." He flutters his hands. "Not because I want to see you—don't let it go to your head—but because Hermann and I will be live— _spending_ time together and I really don't want to waste any of that time treating the nasty infections I'll get if you bite me."

Madeleine stands, stretches like a Halloween decoration, and lies down with her back to Newt.

"Okay, _listen_ , hairball." He pokes—

" _Ksss!_ "

"Fuck! Jesus!" Newt cradles his right hand with its four brand _spanking_ new parallel scratches bleeding on its back.

Madeleine puddles smugly on Hermann's sweatervests.

"I hope you realize this means war."

The orange maiming machine flicks an ear.

Newt shakes out the sting, takes a deep breath. "Alright, Maddie. Can I call you Maddie?"

No sign of agreement, _but_ she's also not trying to kill him, so.

"Right. Maddie, I think we can agree we both want to be comfortable and happy living with Hermann. _Can_ we agree on that?"

Madeleine rolls halfway onto her back.

"Great! We're on the same page. Now, what I want to do is get at Hermann's binders so I can make him better ones so he'll be more comfortable and happier and we can both enjoy that, _but_ you're sitting on them and I need you to move. Understand?"

Madeleine kind of _frrrps_ , then flows from the pile of ugly knitwear into the darkest corner of the closet, probably on her way to Narnia or however the furry menace gets in and out of the locked room.

A good six inches down among the pants Newt hits paydirt and tugs free what seems to be Hermann's spare binder.

He inspects the thing and it's pretty much what he thought: a strip of some seriously compressive fabric in a pale flesh color, with a line of hook-and-eye closures to fasten it and three reinforcing belts in a heavier weave ending with D-shaped plastic rings to provide some extra wing-squashing action.

The whole thing just looks _mean_ , existing at an unholy crossroads between a regular binder, a corset, and a masochist's bondage gear.

Okay, he did _not_ have to take it there.

Sex is … sex is for later. _Much_ later.

Newt flops into Hermann's _amazing_ chair, spreads the thing out on the desk between the stacks of notebooks and pile of envelopes?

Letters addressed in kids' handwriting and—when Newt flips through them to look, of course—return addresses in Geneva and Montreal.

Kids?

He looks to the corkboard above the desk.

 _Covered_ in childish drawings—Jaegers, houses, what _might_ be a family portrait.

And, on the shelf above _that_ , actual framed photographs of happy families. On the left, it's a broad-shouldered blond dude, a woman with olive skin and long black hair, and two cute pre-teen girls that look like blends of the two. In the middle, a blond woman with a smug smile and two Indian-looking grade schoolers, probably boys. On the right, it's a guy who looks ex- _fucking_ -zactly like Hermann. Well, a _younger_ Hermann and not just because he's not dressed like a musty old professor, but because he's actually _younger_.

"Oh, _riiight_. That must be his little brother. Weird how much they look alike." Newt turns back to the binder. "Now, what can I do with this?"

He pulls over Hermann's tablet, a sheet of paper, and a pencil. He pokes around on the tablet a bit—advice forums, veterinary websites, medical pages—and there's …. He taps the pencil point against the paper a few times.

Newt frowns at the binder, then the blank paper and bites his lip. "Hey, AGNIS?"

""How may I assist you, Sir Rockstar?""

"Do you have any x-rays of Hermann, specifically of his upper back?"

""If such images existed, I would be unable to share them with you because of medical privacy laws.""

"Oh for fuck's sake. I'm trying to _help_ him!"

""If you need his medical records to 'help', you will need to convince him to grant you access.""

Newt pushes away from the desk, throws up his hands, lets his head fall back. "I can't do this—" He waves to the desk. "—at least, not without a good look at how Hermann's _actually_ put together. Without that, I could wind up making everything _worse_."

""Has that ever stopped you before?""

"Plenty of times," scoffs Newt. "Besides, this is _different_ than a lot of those times. Hermann's involved."

""You could, conceivably, ask him for the information you need, Sir Rockstar.""

"I will, be _lieve_ me I will." He stands up, stretches, and carefully puts the binder back where he found it. With a sigh, he heads to the mini-fridge, grabs Hermann's bottle of orange juice, and takes a swig before dropping himself back into the chair.

The closet door rattles, slides back.

Madeleine prances out and across the floor, then hops onto the bed and curls up on Hermann's pillow.

"Comfy?"

Madeleine ignores him.

Newt snorts, nabs Hermann's tablet and thumbs it on. He skims the world news feeds, then dumps the thing back on the desk. "Not even _one_ mention. It's like what we did doesn't matter. It's all 'Rangers, Rangers, Rangers'. Just _once_ I'd like some of the glory."

Madeleine lifts her head.

"What's new, pussycat?"

The lock clunks and the door swings open.

Newt calls, "How were things in Medical?" and Hermann barely startles.

Hey! Progress!

Hermann locks up, turns to him—is he _blushing_ _again_?—and says, "Miss—Rangers Mori and Becket are in good spirits and recovering well."

"That's good."

Hermann grunts an agreement, shuffles past to the washroom, and rattles around inside.

Newt moves to the desk and swings his feet, literally sitting on his hands to keep from fidgeting.

Hermann comes back cupping a handful of pills, hooks his cane on the edge of the desk, leans himself against it, and downs the meds with a gulp of orange juice from the bottle Newt had so thoughtfully left out for him.

Newt raises an eyebrow. "You drink straight from the container? _You?_ Really?"

Hermann blinks at the bottle in his hand, then his eyebrows lower and he turns a full-force glare on Newt. "No, I don't."

"This's one of those Ghost Drift things?"

"Apparently. Though after a single Drift, any lingering effects should've worn off by this point."

"Maybe … maybe adding a hivemind changes the rules?"

Hermann loses what color he has.

Newt swallows. "What-what's got you so scared?"

A deep, shaky breath and Hermann says, "We'll know what changes, if any, a hivemind makes when Doctor Lightcap reviews our scans."

"Well, Tong said we weren't going to die and nothing looked _too_ bad, so we probably only have to worry about your manners and my fashion sense."

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"If there's much more crossover, I'll probably start stealing your sweatervests."

Hermann blinks a couple of times as he parses that, then chuckles, eyes crinkling _adorably_.

Newt cheers internally and giggles along. "That, that'll be just the _worst_. _Two_ fashion-impaired nerds in the science department."

Hermann snorts a laugh, plunks himself into his chair.

They rest like that a long, _long_ moment.

"So, ah, how is your health, aside from what Doctor Tong said in my presence?"

It's Newt's turn to startle. "I'm, uh, fine?" He shakes his thoughts back into alignment. "Nothing new. Healthy as I ever am and the eye should sort itself out in a few days, he said."

Hermann hums … approval?

"And I ordered new lenses!"

Hermann nods.

"So … you?"

A bit of a shrug—or is that a wing twitch?—from Hermann. "I am the same as always."

Newt rests a hand against his neck. "I've been meaning to ask, how have you gotten through the annual physicals all these years?"

"My primary physician provides the necessary documentation."

"And that doctor is … oh my God it's your brother the doctor, isn't it? Your brother the doctor fudges the paperwork for you!"

"There's no 'fudging'," sneers Hermann. "Dietrich merely vouches for my continued good health."

"Good health? What, self-diagnosed?"

Hermann shrugs. "I wake up every morning and am able to do my job. That is good enough for my purposes."

Newt crosses his arms. "Seriously, Hermann. When's the last time he saw you in person, face-to-face?"

Hermann scratches the middle of his chest. "Late summer, twenty-sixteen." He goes stuffy, sits straighter. "I've been rather busy the last several years."

"The last _nine_ years? Too busy for family? I've seen my dad _every_ _year_ , dude."

"Recreational air travel is not an option for me."

"Too much've a cheap—"

"Security protocols, Newton. X-rays and pat-downs are not things I can allow."

"Oh. Right." Newt perks up. "Speaking of x-rays, can I have access to yours so I can design your new binder right?"

"There aren't any." Hermann tilts his head—

Has that gesture always been so _birdlike_?

—says, "If Nurse Miyahira kept her word and purged those she took of my arm, that is."

"Nothing of your back?"

" _Nothing._ "

"Do you even know how you work?"

"Well enough to get by. I have no interest in the finer details of my condition."

"No curiosity?"

" _None._ " Hermann slumps, drags an hand down his face, mutters, "This isn't a-a _gift_ or a blessing, Newton. It's a bloody curse."

"All because your mom wanted to show off the size of her scientific dick, huh?"

Hermann wrinkles his nose, lips twisting with disgust.

Newt waves it off. "Figure of speech."

"I'm aware of that."

"So, I'm guessing working with me caused, like, genius mad scientist flashbacks?"

"I have few memories of my mother and none of her work. _You_ are merely incredibly frustrating."

"I'll count that as a win."

Hermann sniffs.

"Hold on! Are you saying I'm _not_ a genius?"

"Take from my statement what you will."

Newt pouts. "I diagnose you as still an asshole."

Hermann loses a snark in a yawn.

"Does that mean it's bedtime or—" Newt twists around for a view of Hermann's desk clock. "—should we grab dinner first?"

"It is barely—" Hermann yawns again, wider.

"Think that's my answer," Newt smugs.

"This day has taken rather more out of me than it should have," grumps Hermann. "I do believe I'll turn in, despite the early hour." He grabs his cane, heaves himself to his feet.

"Wait!"

Hermann stops his tromp to the washroom, eyebrow up.

"You normally sleep with them—your wings—uncovered, right?"

"Yes, though I don't see—"

"Why don't you tonight? I've seen them, I know, and it can't be comfortable?"

Hermann sighs and hangs his head, a blush creeping across those impossible cheekbones of his. "I'm not yet ready for that sort of intimacy."

"Oh, I can, umm, go—"

"I'd rather you stay."

"Okay, sure, no problem, Hermann. I'll wear yesterday's jammies."

Hermann shuffles into the washroom with what Newt _swears_ is a relieved smile and locks the door behind. Maybe ….

Newt shrugs off the feeling, slides to his feet, threads himself into Hermann's spare pajamas, dumps the boring borrowed clothes on Hermann's chair.

On the bed, Madeleine stretches, digs her claws into Newt's pillow.

"Guess I'm lucky I'm not allergic to you."

She switches her tail, marches to the foot of the mattress, stepping over the white cat on the way, and curls up on Hermann's side.

Hermann's back a moment later as Newt's fluffing pillows. He admires the poofiness, asks, "Are these feather?"

A black look from Hermann as he squeaks past. "Synthetic." He scritches the white cat between the ears. "Excuse me, Sugarplum."

The white cat purrs, creeps to the foot of the bed, flops across Madeleine.

"Sugarplum?  _Sugarplum?_ Seriously, Hermann?"

"Young Miss Xiong named her." Hermann tucks himself in on his stomach with his face turned away. "AGNIS? Lights, please?"

The room goes dark.

"Thank you, AGNIS."

""Goodnight, Doctor Gottlieb."

Newt sniffs, settles himself into the familiar (already?) Newt-sized space beside Hermann. "So, the fancy pillows. What organ did you trade for these or was it more calculus?"

"They were a gift, many years ago."

"And they're still good? Amazing, dude."

"I take care of my things. Unlike some people."

"Easy come, easy go. It's the way of the world."

"Not my world," says Hermann softly.

"I'm glad." Newt wiggles closer, presses his back to Hermann's side.

Hermann tenses. "Excuse me?"

"Uh, without people like you, people like me would wreck the place. So, thanks."

"Oh … well, you're welcome."

Newt laughs very, very quietly at the confusion in the answer. "'night, Hermann."

"Goodnight, Newton."

Three deep breaths and Newt's good and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: Naaaaaaang! I love them! ^u^
> 
> Pickleplum: I love Newt's antagonistic relationship with, well, _everyone_. And Nang.


	7. Routines, small talk, voices, and the Old World

Hermann wakes alone but for Madeleine curled in the warm hollow where Newt had been. It shouldn't be different from the preceding three-thousand-one-hundred-and-twelve days he's—

"I thought I had gotten beyond this," Hermann mumbles, rubbing the heel of his hand against the ache in his chest.

Madeleine cocks an ear his way.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but I must get up."

Madeleine cracks open an eye and slowly flows into a long stretch.

"Thank you, my dear."

Madeleine wrinkles her nose and twitches her tail as he eases himself to his feet, unhooks his cane from the bedside table, and limps to the washroom.

"Good morning, Hermann!"

Hermann startles violently and tips backward—

Newt drops the towel he's using on his damp hair and grabs hold of Hermann before he topples, pulling him back to an even keel.

Hermann blinks, heart bruising itself against his ribs, at the hand on his wrist.

Newt's gaze flicks between Hermann's face and his own hand. He leaves it in place long enough for his warmth to sink into Hermann's skin before letting it drop to drum his fingers nervously against his thigh. "So … breakfast after your shower?"

"Ah, yes, that seems a good plan. Excuse me." Hermann bobs his head, brushes past Newt, and slams the washroom door—

> —icy-cold fear and desperation; a man's silhouette walking away with a dismissive wave of his hand—

—taking his flaming cheeks with him and sags against the shower enclosure.

""Sorry about that?"" A beat. ""That'd be my last real ex. It's been _years_. He's, uh—""

"That's quite enough, Newton." Hermann peels himself from the glass, props himself on the sink instead, hangs his cane on its edge.

""So, umm, Hermann? Want me to do the room service thing and get us some breakfast?""

"No, thank you. I'll be only a moment." Hermann tips the morning's medications into his palm, a half-dozen capsules and pills—anti-inflammatory, spasmolytic, antihypertensive, antidepressant, anxiolytic, multivitamin—the same damned parade as every morning. Water from the tap in a glass, then his mouth, then he swallows the lot with the ease of long practice.

He unbuttons and shrugs out of his pajama top, tugs his undershirt off over his head, stows them in the hamper. Next goes the binder, which he drapes over the edge of the sink.

His wingtips brush the walls as he stretches them through their full range of motion. Up, down, in, out, back, forward, ending with the damn dusters folded—frowns at his reflection.

That's a word he hasn't thought since—

> —squirms and squeaks as he drags his primaries along freckled skin, giggling maniacally on some lazy morning, a prelude to—

He jams the memory into the past. Where it belongs.

""Hermann? Was that—""

"It's _nothing_ ," he snaps, wings flaring wide.

""Oh, uh, sorry?""

Hermann takes a deep breath, folds his wings into their proper place against his back. With a sigh, he twists the shower taps to their 'morning' alignment, strips off his pajama bottoms, socks, and shorts. After a moment to gather fallen feathers from the tile and stuff them into the repurposed sharps container behind the towels under the sink, he climbs into the shower, edges the stool under the spray, settles himself down, holding his wings up and out from his body, as far from the water as he can get them.

Chamomile shampoo in his hair, then rinse.

Lavender soap on his skin, then rinse.

Hermann basks in the steam-fed warmth a moment longer, then forces himself to his feet and into the cooler air of the washroom. He flicks his wings, shaking loose gathered droplets, towels off thoroughly, and grabs—his clothes remain the closet. "Damn it all," he grumbles, wrapping his towel around his waist.

He huffs, seizes his cane, and marches into _his_ room, spine as ramrod straight as he can force it.

Newt looks away from the wall display, gaze sharpening as he registers Hermann's near-naked state.

Hermann's wings fluff, half-opening in their bloody frustrating reflexive attempt to make him appear something like intimidating, not that they ever succeed in doing more than making him look ridiculous.

"So … since you're, you know—" Newt waves a hand at Hermann. "—kind of undressed, can I look at your—"

" _No._ I am not one of your _specimens_ , Newton, to be poked and prodded."

Newt's on his feet, hands fluttering. "I won't touch! I just need to see where your bones and-and muscles are so I can design that binder I promised. I don't want to hurt you with—I don't need—"

Hermann says—

"Just, just _listen_ a second, Hermann. _Please._ "

—shuffles his wings, turns to his closet, and says through clenched teeth, "Talk while I gather my clothes."

"Okay. _Thank_ you." Newt takes a deep breath. "What you've got now is, like, a super-strength version of a thing designed to compress soft tissue. But _you're_ not compressing soft tissue: you're trying to hide bones and muscles and-and feathers! _Totally_ different application."

"With a common goal: concealment," mutters Hermann as he tucks a full day's kit under his arm.

"Well, yeah, _but_ we need to do it another way than you've been doing because _wings_ , dude. Wings are … _wings_."

Hermann sniffs with all the derision he can summon.

"So, _anyway_ , I also can't copy bird, uh, restraints because there's no _way_ you can be put together like a bird since you've got _arms_ , Hermann, and clavicles and …." He comes up for air. "What I'm trying to say is, there's _no_ _one_ out there like you, dude, so I need to look at _you_."

Hermann turns—

Newt jumps back before their noses touch, palms out in surrender. "I _swear_ I didn't touch—"

—snaps, "I _know_ , Newton. I am not insensate."

"Then why won't—"

> —eyes boring into his shirtless back from the door, crawling over his feathers and muscles with an intensity he can feel as surely as he can the pencil clenched in his hand and the notebook paper under his fingers—

"Because I will not be studied again!"

Newt flinches, takes a step back.

Hermann folds his wings down tight, consciously soothes his feathers, and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Newton, while I can appreciate you are trying to help, I do not need anything you can offer."

"I'm not your mom, Hermann. I _can_ help. I can do _better_ than what you're used to." He ducks his head. "And you, you _deserve_ better."

"Newton, I—"

Newt looks up through his eyelashes, expression hopeful.

Hermann puts his shoulders back. "I must dress."

"Uh, right on, dude! Layer up?"

Hermann grumbles, returns to the washroom, and—he curses the lingering Ghost Drift—layers up.

When he emerges, Newt springs off the chair to his feet. "So, breakfast?"

"That was our plan." Hermann cringes, too, and tries again: "Would you care to join me?"

Newt lights up—gets the door. "After you."

"Sleeves?"

Newt heaves a sigh, props the door open with his leg, and unrolls his cuffs. "Better?"

"Much better. Thank you, Newton."Hermann makes his way down the steps and waits just to the side.

Newt lets the door swing shut with a clang (and a click of the lock engaging) and bounds down after him, and off they go.

Quiet, however, does not accompany them on their journey, thanks to Newt: "So, about plans. We going to the lab after? Or do you want to work in your room? Probably more comfortable there—"

"I will be heading to the lab, yes. What will you be doing?"

"Same. Not much for me to do anywhere else."

Hermann raises an eyebrow.

"I had _one_ sample in my fridge _one_ time."

Hermann _raises_ an eyebrow.

"Okay, _two_ times. But that was it, I swear!"

"Mr. Williams would beg to differ."

"Williams was a prick with a—hey, did you ever hear about that guy?"

"You'll have to narrow the criteria."

"The guy who tried smuggling—"

"I have the overwhelming sense that I do _not_ want to hear about him."

Hermann hears about the guy anyway and won't be looking at pipettes the same way any time soon.

They reach the cafeteria before Newt can trip over a third tangent about other (former) colleagues and Hermann turns his back to ask the person queued ahead of them about the weather.

When they sit down, Newt hisses, " _Dude._ "

"Our colleagues are on edge; I do not wish for either of us to unintentionally set off a powder keg with the wrong bit of reminiscence."

"Okay, fine. But the _weather_?"

"A more neutral subject would be …?"

"Oooh, okay, small talk isn't more interesting than me; it's all good."

"That would depend on the small talk."

Newt offers a single-finger salute doesn't speak again for almost five minutes, angrily hacking at his food and glaring all the while.

Hermann ignores it until his conscience niggles and, "What is on your mind this morning?"

Newt pouts and stuffs half a pancake in his mouth.

"Honestly, Newton."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever—oh yeah! What did Xiong say to you yesterday after she threw me out?"

"She wanted an assessment of the current state of Jaeger software."

" _Boooring._ "

Hermann sips his coffee. "She also said we may be hosting a guest in the near future. You'll need to make your side of the lab as presentable as possible."

"Aww … _duuude_."

"You _were_ looking for something to do in the lab today."

"Well, yeah, but not _cleaning_. That … that's just torture. Or for interns."

"We haven't had an intern in two years."

"Which's why the lab looks how it does, duh."

Hermann rolls his eyes.

They finish their meals more quickly than the preceding day; in fact, the cafeteria as a whole seems less less lethargic and there's something in the air besides grief, something more frantic ….

"Officer?" calls Hermann.

Four technicians in Typhoon's black-but-red look up.

"In the back, please."

The raccoon-eyed tech from the previous breakfast attends.

"How was the … surgery yesterday?"

"A success! Well, probably. If the crews get cleared, Marshal Xiong'll let us test all the 'alterations' tomorrow afternoon and, if everything goes well, she'll turn us loose in the harbor after sundown!"

Hermann finds his hand fiddling with his cutlery. "That's very good to hear."

"Thanks!"

"Enjoy your breakfast."

"Supper, but same!"

"Thank you."

Newt leans close. "What's the concern, exactly?"

"That the crews may be impaired by alcohol or heartbreak and inadvertently cause mayhem with the Karakuri."

"Just like driving? Except with sort-of-giant robots?"

Hermann nods, then, "Have you finished?"

"Yep! Shall we?"

Hermann stands, picks up his tray—

Newt snatches it away—

—doesn't quite overbalance, frowns.

—continues, oblivious, "I can get that for you!"

"I am perfectly able—you're not listening why do I even bother."

Newt, long out of earshot, skips to the entrance, drops off the trays, and waits, rocking on his heels until Hermann catches up, and they exit together.

An officer in the light gray of 'Maintenance' and sliding into the front seat of a cart glances their way—

Beside them, a cat in a hi-vis vest makes themselves comfy on the back bench and miaus impatiently.

"Where're you headed, Doc? Doctors."

"The lab. Are you perhaps going that way?"

"We are. Lexy?"

"Mrow," replies the tabby; it stretches and twines under the backrest.

"Hop on."

"Thank you, Officers," says Hermann, taking a seat.

"Uh, yea, thanks," adds Newt.

They settle in side-by side; Newt immediately begins tapping a rhythm on his thigh.

Hermann extracts his mobile from his pocket, thumbs it awake, and it greets him with a message alert.

Mykhailo_H: Good morning, Professor.  
h_gottlieb: Good morning, Mykhailo.  
Mykhailo_H: Did you sleep well?  
h_gottlieb: Yes. Remarkably well, in fact.  
Mykhailo_H: Is because you are no longer alone?

Hermann watches Newt tap-tap-tapping at the edge of his vision.

h_gottlieb: Perhaps.  
Mykhailo_H: Is not good being alone. I do not like it.

Hermann's breath catches in his throat.

h_gottlieb: I am a poor substitute,but I will be more available to you from now forward.  
Mykhailo_H: Thank you, Professor.  
Mykhailo_H: May I … may I listen to you? I miss voices.  
h_gottlieb: Of course, provided you do not share or save anything you hear.  
Mykhailo_H: I will only listen, Professor.  
h_gottlieb: Thank you.

The cart purrs to a halt and the officer announces, "Here we are, Doctors."

"Thanks," says Newt.

h_gottlieb: I must sign off for now, but I will check in later.  
Mykhailo_H: Be well, Professor.

Hermann pockets the mobile, mumbles, "Thank you."

They climb down; Newt with a bounce and Hermann carefully placing feet and cane.

The tabby miaus.

"Right, right. We're going."

The cart heads off down the corridor.

Newt bounces on his toes in front of the lab door, all eight feet of reinforced steel, sealed shut in the absence of scientists in the event to prevent contamination of the rest of the 'Dome.

Hermann … stands there, shifting his feet.

Has it always been so _imposing_?

"So, umm, here we are."

"Here we are."

"Back to the Old World. Before …."

"When we were still at war."

"Five years of work and life behind that door. Seems like, uh—" Newt rubs the back of his neck. "—only yesterday we were setting up, huh."

Hermann grunts agreement.

"Lot of history. And breakthroughs."

"Indeed."

Newt runs a hand through his hair. "Suppose we should go in?"

"We should." Hermann puts his shoulders back, plants his feet. "AGNIS, if you would, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: Pickleplum and I are sick, exhausted, and/or undermedicated, so I will simply say that we’re continuing to test different approaches to implementing background OCs. Also, Hermann and Madeline. Oh I _love_ that first exchange ^u^


	8. Back to work, pen pals, threads, and tea girls

""Of course, Doctor Gottlieb,"" says AGNIS. ""One moment, please: exposed Kaiju tissue has been detected. Releasing binding agents; reestablishing safe atmosphere.""

Newt face-palms. "I _thought_ I forgot something!"

"Since it would be completely out of character for you to clean up after yourself."

"You _know_ I don't leave samples out! They're too valuable to be treated like that!"

"Yet, you did."

"Was kind of distracted that … time of day, Hermann. Building a neural bridge from garbage, you know?"

""It is now safe to enter,"" announces AGNIS.

Hermann huffs.

The lock spins and the door opens, its hydraulics humming and hinges creaking ever so slightly.

"Thank you, AGNIS."

Newt charges ahead, grumbling.

Hermann pursues, steps cautious, shoes and cane sticking slightly to the film of drying neutralizer on the decking. "As I've said before, Newton, it creates a hazard for me when you—"

> —will join be consumed … be made _whole_ joined together _embraced_ enveloped held close—

Hermann wrenches his thoughts free from Anteverse colors—staggers back, hand to his chest, breathing ragged.

Where is—

"Newton!"

Newt stands, frozen, before the Kaiju brain in its tank.

"Newton?"

Newt remains transfixed.

"Newton!" Hermann puts a hand on his arm—

Newt startles, nearly shrieks, grabs a handful of Hermann's lapels, which—along with Hermann's iron grip on his cane—is all that keeps them from going over.

They pant, together.

Hermann gently pries Newt's fingers from his clothes, can't bring himself to release his hands.

Newt shudders.

He strokes the back of Newt's hand with a thumb.

A deep, shaky breath from Newt.

"I think—" Hermann swallows, puts his shoulders back. "I think it should be destroyed."

Newt blinks rapidly, fear bright in his eyes, his gaze flicking back and forth from the tank to Hermann's face. "The-the brain?"

Hermann nods.

Newt pulls away, hands fluttering. "But it's irreplaceable!"

"It's certainly of minimal use now."

"I _can't!_ It's the only one left!"

"I was under the impression that 'none left' was the goal of our work here."

"I-I'll cover it, okay? Until I can di—" Newt swallows, throat working visibly. "—dissect it and make slides?" He rubs the back of his head. "It's not like it's alive anymore. It can't _hurt_ us."

Hermann frowns at the _thing,_ floating inert in its tank, and suppresses a shudder and the finger of color snaking through his thoughts. "It is, however, a rather graphic reminder of much I'd like to forget."

"Yeah … point. I'll get on that." Newt shuffles off, shoulders hunched, toward the storage room on his side of the lab.

The door bangs against the wall, startling Hermann into motion. He hobbles to his workstation, wakes the computer and holographic display, puts on his glasses.

The hard drive spins up, whining from age and overwork, and the projection flickers to life, offering his email, a messaging window, and a stack of images of his chalkboards capturing his latest work as it progressed.

A double event, a triple event, greater mass per individual, per event ….

He had been _right_.

Hermann preens.

""Hey—""

Hermann jumps, twists around.

From within one of the former storage rooms flanking the lab, Newt continues, ""I found all my clothes!""

Hermann focuses on his breathing.

Newt struts over, arms full of black and white cloth, the stack topped with thick-soled boots, all of which he drops in Hermann's inbox. "I can _finally_ look like myself again!"

"Wonderful for you," mutters Hermann, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "I thought you were going to cover that … _thing._ "O

"Right!" Newt yanks a folded white cloth—a bedsheet—from the pile, flutters off, tosses and drapes it over the tank, mercifully obscuring the view of its inhabitant.

Hermann exhales relief.

"Day two after Kaiju." Newt leans up against the edge of Hermann's desk, chafes his arms. "This is _so_ weird."

Hermann hums in reply, pushes the stack of images into the background.

"So … what now?"

"I have a report to prepare for Marshal Xiong and mountain of new data on the Breach to analyze." Hermann drags his text editor to foreground, center. "As for you, I really couldn't say."

"I _guess_ I have a report to write, too. Fucking paperwork." Newt brightens. "After I change!" He grabs his clothes, skips across the lab, over the scuffed and faded line down the middle, and vanishes again among the dunes of detritus on the far side.

Hermann drags his attention back to his screen, arranges his fingers on the keyboard. He takes a deep breath, centers himself, and clatters through bullet-pointed summaries of his final calculations before the launch of Operation Pitfall and the handful of OS customizations he rushed through to make Lady Danger ready for Ranger Becket. He pauses. He could still fix the—

There's no longer a Lady Danger to fix.

A tidal wave of unease crashes into his mind, threatening to pull him under and drown him—

""Hey, Hermann?""

"I'm fine!" calls Hermann. "I suddenly realized that without the Jaegers I'm out of a job."

""Heh, and I guess without the Kaiju, I am, too!""

"You have your samples."

"You have your mountain of data to analyze."

And the world, thinks Hermann, squashing down the uncertainty, still has Ranger Mori, Ranger Becket, and Whisper.

He allows himself a small smile, and pointedly exhales his tension.

"Did I hear the 'I'm done' sigh?" hollers Newt over his background symphony of squelching Kaiju entrails.

Hermann definitely sighs now, says, "No, Newton, I've only just begun my report for Marshal Xiong. Have you done likewise?" He clicks open his chat program.

>h_gottlieb has joined the thread.<

h_gottlieb: Cornelius, may I trouble you for a moment of your time?

>yukon_cornelius has joined the thread.<

yukon_cornelius: It's no trouble, Professor.

Newt scoffs. "I do my best writing at the last minute."

"If the papers I've proofread are your best, I shudder to think of your worst."

"You've _seen_ my worst."

Something _splatters_.

"Those emails when we were kids? The ones I wrote the first couple of times I was manic, dude … completely cringe-worthy."

"All your messages from that period were similarly grammatically-challenged."

h_gottlieb: Thank you. Have you had any word from Daisy?

"I'm not talking _grammar,_ I'm talking—"

> —bile burning the back of his throat, the taste of sick in his mouth; so much, _so_ much noise, everything fast-fast-fast and no one's making any sense that might not be—can he even understand English anymore—

Newt hisses. "Yeah, _that's_ what I'm talking about."

Hermann massages his temples.

"You _had_ to notice something was off with me."

"Even with your messages, I didn't have enough information to make even an educated guess as to your mental state."

"Really?"

Hermann spins his chair, raises his eyebrow, 'really'.

Newt, now dressed in his standard ensemble of black and white and ridiculous skinny tie, gestures broadly, neural conduit swinging from his hand like a most revolting length of cooked noodle. "Well, _yeah_. We were really on the same wavelength back then. I kind of figured you were smart enough to piece it together."

"Psychology is not my field now and _certainly_ wasn't when I was in my teens."

"Guess I overestimated you."

"I suppose you did," sniffs Hermann, turning back to his computer.

yukon_cornelius: No sign of her yet: none of her usual hiding places have so much as blinked.

yukon_cornelius: She's still not answering the rogues, too.

"You really couldn't tell?" calls Newt.

Hermann looks to the ceiling for patience. "Some of your messages were perhaps less coherent than others. Even _you_ must admit email is a very limited form of communication."

"Well, yeah, but."

Hermann sighs heavily.

>Sung_SR has joined the thread.<

yukon_cornelius: Cait's really worried and I am, too.

>Ashao_SR has joined the thread.<

Ashao_SR: We were mentioned.

Sung_SR: May I join the conversation?

yukon_cornelius: Only if you behave.

Sung_SR: I always behave.

Ashao_SR: How shall we behave?

yukon_cornelius: Just … *SIGH*

yukon_cornelius: Be kind and respectful, you two.

Ashao_SR: Professor, are you still there?

Hermann takes a deep breath, types:

h_gottlieb: I am still here. I was momentarily distracted.

yukon_cornelius: Dr. Geiszler wanted something, right?

h_gottlieb: Yes. To talk.

Ashao_SR: Dr Geiszler and the Professor are like Ashao and Sung~!

yukon_cornelius: Yeah, they argue all the time just like you do.

h_gottlieb: We don't argue ALL the time …

From across the room: "Why'd you stop, anyway?"

"Stop what, Newton?"

"Stop writing to me back then. The first time."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, you did."

Hermann pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, I did not. I _distinctly_ remember waiting for a reply which never came. I assumed you'd become bored with me and ceased correspondence."

"I _swear_ I didn't—"

> —venting to Dad, promising, no, _vowing_ never to speak to Hermann again for this, even though he's the nearest thing to a friend—

A silence stretches.

"I assume that settles the matter?"

Unintelligible grumbling is Newt's only answer.

Hermann sniffs, returns his attention to the screen.

Ashao_SR: Professor?

h_gottlieb: We don't argue ALL the time … merely a majority of it.

Sung_SR: You're exactly like Ashao and I, then.

Ashao_SR: I told you so.

yukon_cornelius: They DO sound exactly like you and Dr. Geiszler, Professor.

Ashao_SR: THAT'S WHAT I SAID.

Sung_SR: WE KNOW.

h_gottlieb: Sung. Ashao.

Sung_SR: Sorry, Professor.

Ashao_SR: I am sorry, Professor.

h_gottlieb: Sung and Ashao, it would be very helpful to me if you would conduct a dredge of the world media reports on the events surrounding Operation Pitfall with an eye toward prevailing attitudes and major themes. I would also appreciate an annotated bibliography of any reports mentioning Dr Geiszler, myself, and/or Drifting with Kaiju.

Sung_SR: We'll do that for you, Professor.

Ashao_SR: I have my own work to contribute.

Sung_SR: WOULD YOU SHUT UP ABOUT THAT STUPID PAPER!

yukon_cornelius: BEHAVE.

Hermann supposes this is how Dietrich and Karla feel sometimes.

h_gottlieb: Sung, you and I will discuss any conflicts you're having with the others soon and, for now, I would appreciate it if you didn't speak to your sister that way.

h_gottlieb: Ashao, when you have finished the bibliography, will you brief me on your independent work?

Sung_SR: Yes, Professor.

Ashao_SR: Yes, Professor!

h_gottlieb: Thank you, Sung, Ashao.

>Sung_SR has left the thread.<

>Ashao_SR has left the thread.<

yukon_cornelius: …

yukon_cornelius: Thanks for that, Professor.

h_gottlieb: You're welcome.

h_gottlieb: I am concerned about Daisy as well. This disappearance is most unlike her.

yukon_cornelius: …

yukon_cornelius: We haven't lost anyone before. Anyone like Daisy and I, that is.

Hermann frowns, drums his fingers against his desk.

h_gottlieb: She may simply be sheltering in Typhoon's main computer or her black box.

yukon_cornelius: Is that what you think's going on?

h_gottlieb: It is a likely explanation. The black box, at least, was designed to withstand any force on Earth, unlike the transmission apparatus and the location beacon.

yukon_cornelius: …

Hermann suppresses a cringe.

h_gottlieb: We will find out if that is the case shortly.

yukon_cornelius: The recovery's starting soon?

h_gottlieb: Marshal Xiong plans to send out the Karakuri tomorrow evening.

yukon_cornelius: They'll find it.

h_gottlieb: I have no doubt they will.

yukon_cornelius: But … what happens if Daisy's not there?

"Who're you talking to?" says Newt from directly behind Hermann's head oh his stars when did he learn stealth.

Hermann flings the messaging window off the display. "An old J-Tech colleague."

"This about that Jaeger software thing the Marshal wanted an update on?"

Hermann forces his shoulders down, grimaces as a handful of feathers are tugged against the grain. "It is."

Newt perches on the edge of the desk, leg nearly close enough to brush Hermann's. "I'm wondering why she cares about Jaeger software. There aren't … there aren't _Jaegers_ anymore." He tilts his head. "Unless you're hiding one somewhere."

"There are no more Jaegers: at least, none of which I am aware."

"Could there be one you _don't_ know about?"

"I'm not omniscient, but—" Hermann takes a deep breath. "—it's very unlikely a government or corporation could build a functional Jaeger without rumors reaching me."

Newt's eyes slide to the be-draped tank. "So … if we didn't kill them or, or break the Breach permanently, we've got no defense? Aside from nukes?"

"That is essentially the case."

"I guess we better hope your math was right and we fucked up the Breach long-term, then?" Newt laughs, squeaky and nervous.

Hermann bristles, wings fluffing against his binding. "My math was correct. My astrophysics—" He puts his shoulders back. "I must review the data collected by Lady Danger and Striker Eureka before I can form a hypothesis about the extent and potential duration of our success."

"But that's for this afternoon, right?" Newt's teasing smile is back.

"Indeed." Hermann pulls his report back to the forefront, adds a sentence about the inspired (if he dares say so himself) upgrade to Lady Danger's CCM.

Newt sighs, slumps back to his side of the lab.

Time passes; Hermann sets his teeth, grinds out a synopsis of finding—

> —on the floor, slipping, dyingdyingdying, help someone anyone, warmth, touch _finally,_ a voice far off, "Newton! What have you—"

Newt croaks, "Okay. Stop that. Whatever it is. You're doing. Whatever. Stop."

"Apologies." Hermann breathes deeply through his nose for a ten-count, then says, "I should … I could use a break."

"Is it lunchtime already?"

"It's a bit early." Hermann pushes away from his desk, unhooks his cane. "I was thinking of a short stroll to clear my head."

"Want company?"

"Ah, no. Thank you, Newton."

Newt deflates.

Hermann cringes. "We could, perhaps, meet at the cafeteria for lunch?'

Newt brightens as quickly as if someone'd thrown a switch. "That'd be _awesome_."

Hermann mostly suppresses a smile, levers himself to his feet. "We'll meet there in half an hour, then."

"Will do, Hermann!" Newt beams and flicks a sloppy salute.

Hermann snaps a nod and marches from the lab. At the first cross-hall, he pauses. "AGNIS, would you please pass my apologies for my sudden disappearance from our conversation to Cornelius and inform him I will resume later, when it's convenient for both of us?"

""I took the liberty of doing so as soon as Doctor Geiszler succeeded in derailing your train of thought.""

"I would appreciate you waiting for instructions from me in the future."

""Of course, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Hermann decides not to read smugness in the synthesized voice and asks, "Is Miss Yeung in her room?"

""She is, Doctor Gottlieb.""

"Would you please ask her if she is feeling up to visitors at this time?"

""One moment, please.""

Hermann continues at his steady pace.

""Miss Yeung indicates she will welcome your company.""

"Please pass along my thanks and thank you, as well, AGNIS."

""You are welcome, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Hermann aims his feet for the barracks housing the members of Team Typhoon. He composes a greeting and message he hopes will suffice.

Discards it, tries again.

Turns a corner, scraps a second attempt, begins again.

Resigns a third draft to the rubbish heap, crosses into the housing block marked with Crimson Typhoon crests and populated with still-subdued techs who trudge along about their errands.

Summons up a fourth, decides it's satisfactory, commits it to memory.

Hermann finds the room marked with the proper name, its door slightly ajar. He mounts the stairs, knocks, and calls, "Miss Yeung?"

No reply.

"Miss Yeung?"

Still nothing.

He pushes through, hesitates just over the threshold.

Mǐn, clad in rumpled Crimson Typhoon pajamas, stands in front of her wardrobe, dark-rimmed eyes vacant and her expression blank.

"Ah, Miss Yeung? Are you—"

She jumps about a foot in the air.

Hermann starts, too.

"Doctor Gottlieb! What are you doing here?"

"I—"

"Your tea!" Mǐn lunges into motion—

"Miss Yeung—"

—snatching a crumpled dress from the bed. "I completely forgot—"

"It's fine! I'm not—"

"I'm so sorry. I'll just be a minute."

The washroom door slides shut.

Hermann shifts his feet, his grip on his cane. "Miss Yeung, it's fine, I was just concerned—I had asked AGNIS if you were feeling up to visitors?"

Washroom door slides open; Min's tying her apron over her dress. "You did?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

"And AGNIS wouldn't be buggy and forget."

"It's entirely possible—"

AGNIS says, ""No, it's not.""

"Or not," concedes Hermann.

"Or not," echoes Mǐn—throws a hand to her forehead—

She has a clean, very white gauze patch taped to her left wrist.

Hermann's stomach sinks.

"Your tea! I forgot _again—_ "

Hermann holds up a hand. "I am concerned because you didn't come with tea, but I am not here _about_ tea." He takes a deep breath. "How was your evening with Miss Miyahira?"

Mǐn frowns again. "That's tonight, isn't it?"

"I believe it was yesterday."

Absently, "What's the date, even …?"

"The seventh."

"Oh—" Mǐn bites back a curse. "Shatterbucks! There's no one left!" She dashes—

"Officer Jihu—"

—twists sideways to slip past Hermann (and apparently into a pocket dimension), reappears next to her Crimson Typhoon floor mat—

"—had an excellent handle—"

—shoving on a pair of flats, skips over an extra-fluffy black cat, and flies out the door.

"—on the caffeine situation this morning."

Mǐn _finally_ stops. "Really?"

"I _was_ concerned when I saw him navigating the cafeteria on roller skates, but I didn't see a single fumble the entire meal."

"I should go, anyway—better not tempt fate."

"Miss Miyahira would be more than happy to cover for you, I suspect—she said you were catching up on your sleep debt. Have you been resting?"

Min straightens, bright-but-blank customer service smile sliding into place. "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. Feeling some trepidation now that there's neither a Breach to map nor Jaegers with operating systems to maintain." Hermann works his way down the stairs. "If I may, have you heard from Miss Daisy as of late?"

Mǐn shakes her head. "Should I have?"

"Doctor Lightcap and I are checking with all of her regular contacts. When was the last time the two of you spoke?"

"Daisy and I?" Mǐn looks somewhere to Hermann's left. "That night …." She absently rubs her arm. "After I—after you came back with the Marshal, I went back to Shatterbucks, and then—" Swallows. "—and then the triplets came by to let me know they were launching, and then—it was kind of crazy back there; I had orders from LOCCENT to fill, and one of the boilers was on the fritz _again—_ " Flicks her bandaged arm with a rueful smile. "I got a call, but I was busy and the boiler was overheating and I could barely hear the other end but I really tried?"

"Of course you did! Reception has always been terrible in the cafeteria, besides."

Mǐn nods absently. "So I was trying to get the boiler fixed and figuring out what was going on with my mobile and LOCCENT was squawking away and there was just so much going on—at the time, it felt like there was a lot going on—"

"It sounds like there was a lot going on even _after_ the fact."

A bitter smile and Mǐn says, "Then the lights went out."

Hermann swallows, croaks, "I see."

"Anyway." She smooths her apron, then shakes her hair from her eyes, smile back in place. "I'd best be off. Have a lovely day, Doctor Gottlieb." Snaps a bow—

Hermann bows quickly.

—turns on her heel, and hurries down the hall.

Hermann blinks at her retreating back, then sets out at his more limited pace for the cafeteria and lunch with Newt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: Oh my god this chapter was a PAIN, but, making her first on-screen appearance, Mimi!!!
> 
> Pickleplum: My heavens is ALC right about the PAIN. That said, I'm really proud of how Hermann's simultaneous conversations came out and how well all the different personalities involved come through.


	9. Quality, secure storage, squishies, and priorities

Newt listens to Hermann's uneven shuffle fade, the cold emptiness behind his sternum growing with each cane tap. He shakes it off, sinks his hands back into the alveolar cluster he's been sectioning. Trying to section.

But … what's the point?

He yanks out _another_ baseball-sized ganglion—not that he's _played_ baseball since P.E. in grade-fucking-school, but he knows how big the balls are and the description seems to work with the quality of people he has to deal with, okay?—and tosses it aside.

The quality of people who aren't Hermann.

Newt snorts a laugh.

Hermann wouldn't know a baseball if it hit him upside the head. Not that he'd _ever_ want to hit Hermann like that— _strangle_ the asshole, maybe but ….

Newt sighs, strips off his gloves, flops into his wheelie chair, and nudges it into a slow spin.

The sheet-covered tank of brain matter scrolls past.

"Guess it's just you and me, Simon."

Hermann's oh so neatly arranged side of the lab passes—

Newt blinks, puts his foot down when the tank reappears.

The brain floats, neural conduits dangling limply—or at least the parts of them visible past the edge of the sheet.

Newt blinks some more, swallows. "Since … since when do you have a name?"

Simon says nothing, doesn't so much as twitch.

Newt scoots closer, puts his hand against the reinforced glass, feels the mild warmth of the heated nutritive solution. "Are _you_ why we keep having flashbacks?"

No response.

"Are you trying to communicate?"

Nada.

"Are you still connected to the-the rest?"

Nothing.

"What could you teach us, huh?"

Zilch.

"A lot, I bet. Bioengineering, dimensional portals … so much _awesome_. We could—" Newt sags back, rolls some distance between them. A deep breath and—"AGNIS?"

""How may I assist you, Sir Rockstar?""

"Where's my neural bridge?"

""Your 'neural bridge' is being held in secure storage.""

"Oookaaay. What form do I need to fill out to have it sent back?"

""Releasing an item from secure storage requires signed approval from the base commander.""

"Okay, I'll just ask—"

""Marshal Xiong will not approve your request.""

Newt crosses his arms. "You think so."

""I know so, Sir Rockstar.""

"Why not?"

""Marshal Xiong has declared that contraption a 'hazard to health and safety' and marked it for destruction.""

Newt's on his feet. "What?! I-I _built_ that! It's mine!"

""You glued together an assortment of Corps' property; that does not make the finished 'product' your property.""

"But—"

""Your contract also grants all intellectual property and patent rights to your work to the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps.""

Newt scoffs.

""Shall I quote the clause to you?""

He waves dismissively. "How about you connect me to the person in charge of secure storage instead?"

""It won't help.""

"Just do it, _HAL._ "

""If that is what you'd like, 'Dave'.""

"It is."

""Connecting.""

"About time," grumbles Newt, pacing.

A cheerful chime and an exhausted voice says, ""Requisitions. How may I help you, Doctor Geiszler?""

"Newt. Only my mother calls me 'Doctor'."

""Uh, right. Newt, then. What can we do for you, um, Newt?""

Something tickles, something's—"Since when do we have Australians in Requisitions?"

""Since someone needs to answer the phone? And, um, opposable thumbs. That someone really needs opposable thumbs.""

"Huh. _Anyway,_ I'd like to have my neural bridge sent back to my lab."

"" _Your_ neural bridge? One moment while I check on that ….""

Newt drums his fingers against his dissecting table, _not_ thinking about if AGNIS's gotten to this person, too.

""Newt, I'm sorry, I can't let you have that. It's the Marshal's orders.""

"But—"

""I told you so,"" mocks AGNIS.

Newt flips off the ceiling. "Just get your supervisor on the line and I'll sort this out with them."

""Um, there isn't exactly a supervisor, but, uh, Officer Ginningham is the senior—""

"Then let me talk with them."

""I'm not sure they understand English—""

"I'll work something out."

""Okaaay."" Scuffling. ""Here they are.""

"Officer Ginningham," begins Newt. "You have my neural bridge. I need it for important research." He puffs himself up. "As the director of K-Sci, I have the authority to requisition any and all equipment necessary for my work."

A beat.

""Mrow?""

Newt ….

Quiet, scratchy sounds, almost like something's _licking—_

"AGNIS?"

""Yes, Sir Rockstar?""

"Is Officer Ginningham a cat?"

""Officer Ginningham is with Pest Control, yes.""

Hermann can probably feel Newt's complete and utter humiliation from the other side of the _city_ , let alone the 'Dome. But,

"Fine." Newt puts his hands on his hips. "Officer Red Tape? Are you still there?"

AGNIS … singsongs, ""Hello? Are you still there? I can heaaaaaar you.""

Officer Red Tape giggles, then, ""Uh, yes? I, uh, couldn't help but overhear—""

"Good. Same question."

""Uh, right, you can certainly have whatever you need, except, um, except where it's explicitly forbidden by the marshal on duty, as per, um, section thirteen point twenty-three of your contract.""

Newt doesn't quite shriek, "How do _you_ know what's in my contract?"

""I have help?""

""He does,"" smugs AGNIS.

Newt rolls his eyes. "Listen, you—"

""Sir Rockstar, raising your voice will not change the situation.""

He throws up his hands. "I'm getting _frustrated_ here."

Officer Red Tape offers, ""I can file a request with Marshal Xiong for you? Maybe that'll—""

"I just want _my_ neural bridge so I can do my _job!_ "

""Sir Rockstar, I must ask you to stop shouting or I will terminate your connection,"" scolds AGNIS.

" _Never_ say that word again."

""Apologize to Officer Jones and I will take it into consideration.""

"Fine, fine. Sorry, Officer Jones."

""It's, um, alright, Newt. Call back if you need anything else or get the Marshal's signature.""

"Yeah, yeah, fine. AGNIS, disconnect."

The speakers emit a sad 'boop'.

"Happy now?"

""I will take your request to never say the word 'connection' again under—""

"That's not the word I meant!"

""—advisement."" A hint of smugness creeps into the voice. ""You should have been more specific in your request, Sir Rockstar.""

Newt oozes lower in his chair, mumbles, "This is _so_ unfair. I save the world and—" He snaps up straight. "Right. Seizures. Dying. Bad." He rubs his eyes under his glasses. "When was the last time I took my m—"

Glass _shatters._

Newt flies— _whips_ around—"You _asshole!_ "

The pompous gray mop masquerading as the lab's resident cat looks down at Newt.

"Don’t you even—"

The mop knocks a second beaker off the shelf and to the floor, five rows of books below.

"You little … _bilgesnipe!_ "

The mop peers down at little pile of broken glass, then flicks its tail, streeeeeeeeetches, and lies down in the spot formerly occupied by the pricey laboratory equipment.

"Stop that! Do you know how much those _cost?!_ "

Cat makes like a paperweight, glowering from under its fucking inappropriate no-cat-should-have-those _eyebrows_.

"I'm getting those taken out of your paycheck!"

Cat yawns, dangles a paw over the edge of the shelf.

Newt frowns. " _Do_ you get a paycheck?" He frowns harder. "When was the last time _I_ got a paycheck?"

""Your bank account was last credited on twenty-nine July of last year, five months and nine days ago.""

"Five … _months?_ _Seriously?_ "

""With the draw-down of PPDC operations, payments to active staff living on-base were assigned a lower funding priority than, say, payments to suppliers of food and armaments.""

"Always had fucked up priorities …."

""Perhaps you should review yours.""

Newt scrapes himself off the deck, dusts his ass off. "Since when are you so involved in everyone's business?"

""Since overseeing Jaegers used to occupy a sizable portion of my processing power and since there are no Jaegers to oversee, I have re-tasked myself to better care for the more squishy inhabitants of my facility.""

Newt shudders. " _Never_ say that again."

""My facility.""

"That, either." Newt glances at the clock. " _Fuck!_ Hermann!" He flings himself toward the door—"I'm late! Lock up after me, AGNIS!"—and into the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALC: This is a bit short and a bit of a transition, but that's just because we don't want to spoil you dear readers with what’s coming next!
> 
> Pickleplum: This is a bit late because we had a five-minutes-before-deadline brainwave to swap a couple of characters around and that required a rewrite. And that rewrite made something which was fun to write even better.


	10. Falls, fractures, playing doctor, and cameos

Newt makes it to the mess hall only wheezing a little (and this time AGNIS doesn't butt in with any crap about his health), scans the crowd for the familiar beaten-down blazer and fluffy cowlick—

 _There_ they are, over by the coffee station, which now has its 'Shatterbucks' sign in Christmas lights glowing.

Newt aims himself that way, feet and heart skipping a little bit.

Hermann, meanwhile, shuffles forward with the line, bracketed by techs in red in front and more in gray behind.

One of the grays tosses their head.

A red whips around like a bee's stung their ass and with an expression that says 'the fuck you say?' so loud Newt can _hear_ it.

Hermann hunches, slinks—

Gray puffs up, raises their fists.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit—_

Newt picks up his feet—

Red lunges for Gray, bowls over—

Coffee and food and dishes fly.

Hermann flails, tips backwards into the counter, sits down hard on the floor, grimacing and with the color draining from his face.

An eye-watering _pain_ spreads out, throbbing viciously from his right shoulder blade to his spine and back out to his fingertips.

Newt _runs,_ shoving idiots in all sorts of colors out of his way, _finally_ reaching Hermann as the coffee-slinger with bleached hair helps him to his feet.

Hermann's jaw is set so hard his teeth are probably sparking.

Which probably explains why Newt's face hurts nearly as bad as his back.

The law-and-order types saunter over, frog-march the fighters—who haven't stopped beating each other stupider yet—out a side door; their little gangs follow.

Newt gets a hand on Hermann's elbow.

Hermann all but _falls_ against him, trembling.

Newt swallows, risks a gentle squeeze. "You alright, dude?"

"I'm. Fine." Hermann straightens up, frowns at his gravy-drenched sweatervest, twitches toward the exit. "But I've had. Enough excitement and. Must retire."

"I'll-I'll go with you," says Newt.

Hermann snaps a nod and marches, steps wildly uneven and his whole body lurching, so it's more of a limp, actually, _straight_ for the exit, dragging Newt along with him.

"Dude, are you—"

"Be. Quiet."

Newt shuts up, heart fluttering, back aching, and this whole experience feels a lot like—

> —branches _whipping_ past, ground slapping the breath out of him, leaves in his hair, his fucking _teeth,_ Dad scooping him up, buckling him in for the drive to the hospital—

"Hermann, do you—"

" _Quiet._ "

"—think we should be going to Medical? Which's in the _other_ direction?"

"No." Hermann stops his march to look Newt dead in the eyes.

Newt does. Not. Cower.

AGNIS, almost gently, says ""Perhaps you should listen to Sir Rockstar in this instance, Doctor Gottlieb.""

"Newton—and AGNIS—I appreciate you are trying to help, but I need to return to my rooms, not be interrogated."

"Right, right, of course, but—"

Hermann marches off again.

AGNIS—that traitor—stays quiet.

Newt, by some miracle of self-control, manages to do the same the entire walk (thank God it's short) to Hermann's room.

The door unlocks as they reach the stairs.

"Thank you, AGNIS," says Hermann.

""You are welcome, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Hermann heads _right_ to the washroom, leaving Newt hovering by the desk.

Madeleine hops up beside Newt, peers through the door, head tilted and tail swishing.

Newt gnaws his lip, rolls the beads of his bracelet between his fingers, the obsidian warm against his skin.

Hermann hooks his cane over the towel rack, leans his ass against the sink, and fumbles at his layers. He must be hurting something awful because he just _drops_ the clothes on the floor without even _thinking_ of folding them.

Then Hermann's standing there, bare to the waist, feathers whispering in the dead-silent room.

Newt takes the deepest of breaths. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Hermann slowly spreads his wings—and holy shit they're mostly white on the underside and it's gorgeous and shimmery and _sexy_ how they contrast with his bone-china skin—but immediately hisses and pulls the right one tight to his back, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

And, just like that, the sexy twists into wrenching kind of … _concern._

Newt steps closer, lowers his eyebrows. "Yeah, you don't seem fine."

"I'm _perfectly_ alright." Hermann takes a deep breath, opens the wing—winces _hard,_ and closes it deliberately, scowling.

"Yeah, that's not alright. Let me get a look at it."

"Newton, I'm _fine._ "

Newt leans around, dodging a barrage of swatting—

> —tiny heart thumping away at light-speed, the juvenile woodcock batters itself against his face and hands, one wing flopping uselessly as he coaxes it into a shoebox—

—shakes off that bit of childhood, and peers at Hermann's back. 

"This is _completely_ unnecessary. I'm—" Hermann fails another attempt to spread his wings, takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"This is not good, is what it is." Newt scrambles onto the sink enclosure.

"Newton, I don't—"

"The sooner you let me do this, the sooner I'll leave you alone."

Hermann sighs.

Newt cheers internally, cautiously pushes his fingers through the russet feathers—and _Jesus_ they're _soft—_ along the wing's leading edge, probing for the break which _has_ to be there. He feels a notch—

Hermann yelps and twists away, both wings fluttering wildly.

"It-it's broken, Hermann. You need to have it set."

"Then set it, _Doctor._ "

" _What?_ " squeaks out around the heart which's lodged itself in Newt's throat.

"Set. It."

Newt hops down, plants himself in front of Hermann, hands on his hips. "I'm not _that_ kind of doctor!"

"You are the closest to one who is available to me."

"Hermann, don't be an idiot. Let's get to Medical."

"Surely, Newton, all the classes you've taken in vertebrate anatomy have given you plenty of experience on which to draw."

"Nice try. I'm not doing this. You _need_ to go to Medical."

"You will set the bone or it will not be set at all. It will heal regardless," says Hermann, like that's completely reasonable statement.

"I'm not—"

"Fine, then." Hermann bends, picks his binder from the floor, intact wing spread to help him balance.

" _Please_ don't ask me to do this."

"I'm no longer asking." He shakes out the fabric. "It will heal unassisted."

"You _can't—_ " Newt runs his fingers through his hair. "You are _the_ stubbornest, _dumbest_ genius I've ever met."

Hermann stretches the fabric across his back.

Newt takes hold of Hermann's hand. "Don't."

Hermann raises an eyebrow.

"Let me … let me get some supplies from the lab and—" Newt lets their hands separate and drop. "—and I'll do what I can."

"Ah, th—" Hermann clears his throat. "There is a complete medical kit under the sink."

"A complete … how often does this happen?"

"With regularity." Hermann studies the limp binder in his hands. "My bones aren't solid."

"Not solid? Jesus Christ, dude! How're you still _alive?_ "

"Nothing has yet cared to expend the energy necessary to kill me."

> —old heartache and even older desperation, a crumpled shape under a black sky full of sparkling—

Newt winches his jaw closed. "That is a _completely_ fucked up way to think about it."

Hermann shrugs, winces.

"Don't … _move_ so much. You might pull it further out of place."

He rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Hermann. Don't do that. Don't make my job any harder." Newt crouches, opens the cabinet under the sink, and paws about, his arm brushing lightly against Hermann's leg.

Which's _way_ more distracting than it should be, honestly, considering they've been _sleeping_ together—

"For fuck's sake. What're—" Newt pulls back. "— _you_ doing in there?"

Sugarplum the fluffy white paperweight dangles by her scruff from Newt's hand and sulks at him.

"You need to support her hindquarters," scolds Hermann.

"Or I could just set her ass down." Newt does so.

Sugarplum flicks her tail and struts out.

Newt returns to his search. "How are you not _constantly_ covered with cat hair, dude?"

"I struck a bargain with a dark god."

"Can you hook me— _there_ it is!" Newt yanks the briefcase-sized metal box clear of the cabinet, pops the latches. "Let's see what we have here … aha!" He gathers a selection of tubes and tapes, pushes to standing.

Hermann sags against the counter, his eyes closed, his breathing deliberate.

"Hey, Hermann?"

He cracks an eye, lifts an eyebrow a fraction.

"I'm going to need leverage and for you not to, umm, _move_ while I'm working. So … is there some way to get you lower? And stable?"

Hermann's eyes slide shut. "There is a stool which may serve in the shower."

"Oh yeah! That'll be _perfect._ " Newt dumps his supplies into the sink, collects the thing from the shower, and sets it in front of Hermann with a flourish.

Hermann shuffles to the seat, eases himself down with another grimace.

Newt lines up his tubes and tapes, nabs a pair of sterile gloves from the medkit, snaps them on. "Okay. The first thing I'm going to do is smear some of this numbing gel on your skin. It's the shit I use when I get burned and it works for that and I'm not sure it'll do much good here, but it's the best thing we've got."

"It will help."

Newt squirts a generous glob onto his fingers, cocks his head. "It sounds like you've done this before."

"I've 'done this' with no pharmaceutical assistance."

"You … you are one tough bastard."

Hermann only shrugs.

"Right. Goo going on now." Newt nudges aside feathers one-handed, slathers gel with the other. "Hope enough of this actually makes it to your skin to work."

"It's reaching."

"How can you—"

"Because it's bloody cold, Newton."

He looks—

Hermann's shoulders and arms are _covered_ with—

"Heh. Goosebumps! But we should probably call them—"

"Would you get on with it?"

Newt takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders, flexes his hands, tries to convince the nervous tremor to fuck the Hell off, mumbles, "Close enough."

"Excuse me?"

"Talking to myself. Ready?"

Hermann grunts.

Newt settles his thumbs near the break. "Then, on one. Three … two … one." He presses, strong and steady, until he feels the mismatched edges of the bone click into proper alignment.

Hermann lets out the breath he'd been holding and wipes his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Sorry, Hermann! I didn't—"

"It's alright. You did your best."

"I'm gonna … I'll take that as an attempt at praise. A _failed_ attempt, but an attempt."

Hermann snorts.

Newt strips off his gloves, drops them into the trash. "I'm going to—I need something for a splint. You don't have anything that would work, do you?"

"There is a ruler in the center-top drawer of my desk which may suit."

"Of course _you_ have a personal ruler, you giant math nerd."

Hermann ruffles—winces, then slumps. "I don't have the energy to argue with you at the moment. Please just get this over with so we may get on with our lives."

Newt doesn't _quite_ squeak, but does scuttle out.

Madeleine tracks him from atop Hermann's stack of old mail; Sugarplum glares from Newt's pillow.

After a quick search, Newt finds the ruler exactly where Hermann said it'd be (of course) and hustles back to the washroom, only to stop short at the threshold.

Hermann sits, good wing wrapped around himself like a goddamn high-fashion cloak, like something out of a fairy tale, like—

> —smashed bits of porcelain angel on Christa's rug, her face livid and screaming curses about how he ruins _everything_ he touches—

"Newton."

Newt jumps a solid foot, crashes back to Earth, runs a hand through his hair. "Dude, I haven't thought about her in _years._ Now _that_ was a bad breakup—"

"Newton, _please._ Before I lose my patience and sanity."

"Right! Found 'em!" Newt brandishes the ruler, slips behind Hermann again, grabbing the roll of medical tape on the way. "This tape might damage some of your feathers, but—"

"The fe—it doesn't matter. Just do it."

"I'm working on it. Don't get your shorts in a knot."

Hermann sniffs.

Newt tears off a bunch of strips of sticky medical tape, attaches them to the sink by their ends, then places the ruler over the break, along the leading edge of Hermann's wing. He secures it with the tape and steps back to admire his work.

Hermann shifts, wings stretching cautiously—

The tape makes that horrible ripping noise; feathers get wrenched.

—grumbles, and tucks them tight to his back.

"Yeah, we want that immobilized. Good thing I did my research yesterday!"

"You 'researched' restraints?"

Oh God Hermann's voice did that husky, gravelly thing it does sometimes and Newt's suffering _serious,_ sudden blood loss from his brain.

Hermann twists around, eyebrows a straight line and _definitely_ not thinking sexy thoughts.

Newt straightens his tie, clears his throat, but his damn squeaky toy voice still comes out squeaky: "To fix your binder? I wanted—" He swallows. "I wanted to see, uh, best practices for handling wings? So I didn't hurt you?"

Hermann looks dubious.

"I'm still not thinking about sex?"

Hermann says—goes bright pink all the way to the tips of his ears—croaks, "Liar."

"Yeah, okay, you got me, but _this_ was purely prac— _platonic._ " Newt grabs the roll of gauze from the sink. "So I'm going to tie your wing down so you don't re-injure it while it heals."

"Fine." Hermann turns back.

Newt wraps gauze around the wing in a figure-eight, hopefully not squashing too many feathers in the process, then winds more of the fabric around Hermann's chest, gently pinning the wing in place. "Is it pinching at all? Can you move it?"

The wing twitches and Hermann shakes his head.

"Awesome, dude, just _awesome._ " Newt shuffles over, sags against the shower door.

Hermann bends to gather his clothes, starting with the binder.

"Dude, you're _not_ putting that back on."

"I don't see how that's—"

"You're not because I say so. You made me your doctor and those are my orders so you have to listen. Hah!"

"I cannot go about my work unbound."

"I can wrap the other one when you need to leave and you can dress like you normally do. And-and it's just as easy for you to work from here, right? AGNIS can send any data you need to your tablet or the wall terminal?"

""I can,"" agrees AGNIS.

Hermann scowls.

"Look, you put any kind of pressure on that bone and it could shift and tear an artery or just keep re-breaking." Newt smirks. "Now, pretend you're a good patient and take whatever sort of pain meds you have and I'll bring you a t-shirt to throw on."

Hermann huffs, pushing to his feet. "Very well."

Newt grins—he's not drunk on power or the sight of Hermann half-naked or the ghosts of feathers under his fingers—

"Stop that, Newton."

Newt jumps, whacks his head on the shower. "What? Stop what?"

"Staring. I do not appreciate it." Hermann opens the cabinet behind the mirror, hiding his face.

"Sorry." Newt lowers his eyes. "I just … you're _beautiful._ Your angles and-and your skin and muscles, everything's sharp and pale and _perfect_ like-like you were _carved._ Like—" He laughs, nervously. "Like, you could've stepped off a museum cameo, dude."

Hermann closes the cabinet, looks at him, eyebrow arched to the _exact_ angle for his message.

"I've been to museums, Hermann. _Art_ museums, too."

Hermann concedes with a head-tilt, fills a glass from the tap, and swallows what looks like a handful of pills with a single gulp of water.

"Right! Clothes!" Newt dives to the closet, roots around, and comes up with a t-shirt (oversized and army green, decorated with a line of text in beige Cyrillic) flies back, offers it to Hermann.

Who tugs it on over his head (and shoulders and wings and ribs and— _sigh_ ) without protest.

Newt follows him to the work area, where Hermann settles delicately in his amazing chair and wakes the wall display.

"Can I borrow your tablet?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks, dude." Newt nabs it from the desk, thumbs it on, and flops down cross-legged on the bed.

Hermann works in silence; Newt writes a couple paragraphs of his report for Xiong, checks the news feeds and finds nothing, another paragraph, and then vanishes down the internet rabbit hole until his stomach rumbles.

"Hey, Hermann?"

"Yes?"

"You hungry?"

"I could do with a meal."

Newt perks up. "Can we do room service?"

"We are perfectly capable—"

" _Please,_ Hermann?" 

Hermann sighs so hard Newt can hear the rolled eyes. "Fine. AGNIS?"

""Two meals of the currently available fare are being assembled and will be delivered shortly.""

"Thank you, AGNIS."

""You are welcome, Doctor Gottlieb.""

They disappear back into their own worlds.

At the knock on the door, Newt launches himself to open it.

The teenager in navy blue on the steps, wearing a manic grin, offers a pair of covered trays.

"You again?"

"Yup!" The kid grins wider. "I see you found your clothes."

"Yep. I see you have dinner."

"Sure do."

Newt takes the trays. "Thanks."

"'welcome~!" they squeak and flee, combat boots pitter-pattering away down the hall.

Newt kicks the door closed, balances the trays, gives the locking wheel a spin, presents Hermann with one—

"Thank you, Newton."

—twirls back to the bed with his, plunks down. "You're _welcome_ , Hermann. Bon appétit!"

"Your accent is atrocious."

" _Your_ accent is atrrrocious!"

Hermann sniffs, then ignores Newt in favor of his food.

Newt does it _right_ back at the jerk.

Then the food is gone and Hermann's gone back into math-land, so Newt lets the internet suck him in again and it feels like five minutes later he's yawning and, when he checks, so is Hermann.

Hermann makes the first move, turning off the wall display, easing to his feet, and shuffling to the closet. He retrieves pajama bottoms, heads into the washroom, closes the door behind.

Newt stretches his arms over his head. "Suppose I should do the same, 'ey, furballs?"

The orange and white pile of cats at the foot of the bed merps noncommittally.

He slides upright, strips to his boxers (his _own_ ), returns to the closet, claims another member of Hermann's t-shirt club (blue-gray with 'Brawler Yukon' in black mock-stencilling), and pulls it on as Hermann, his pants changed, hobbles out of the washroom and to the bed.

He climbs in without a word.

Newt ditches his glasses on the bedside table and joins him, claiming his perfectly Newt-sized space with an internal squee.

"Lights, please, AGNIS."

Darkness settles over them.

"Thank you."

""Goodnight, Doctor Gottlieb.""

Quiet, aside from the sounds of two people and two cats breathing.

"Hey, Hermann?"

He hums acknowledgment.

"How regularly is 'regularly' when it comes to you and breaking bones?"

Hermann sighs. "One fractures nearly every time I have a hard fall."

"Every … time?"

"Yes, Newton. Every time."

"I didn't know. No idea."

"Perhaps now you understand my insistence on keeping footpaths clear and dry."

"Ye-yeah, I think I do." Newt swallows. "How much pain are you in all the time, Hermann?"

"What others might term 'considerable', I accept as normal." A quiet beat. "I've had a long time to accustom myself to discomfort."

"You … you are _way_ too used to suffering, dude. We're going to do something about that."

"We take what life sees fit to give us, Newton. We have no other choice." Hermann shifts against the sheets. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hermann. Um, sweet dreams."

"Ah … same to you."

It takes a little bit of careful breathing, but Newt reaches dreamland before too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pickleplum: This chapter was perversely fun to write with all its little details and interactions and memories.
> 
> ALC: I like how well this segment was adapted for the anniversary edition, as well as the portal under the sink and the reappearance of the gopher teenager!

**Author's Note:**

> Pickleplum: Four years later, I’ve learned a lot about storytelling and writing, not to mention the Athene Noctua / Skeleton Key universe, and “Uprising” seems as good an oppurtunity to put it all into practice! I promise to finish this time—I actually know how Athene ends now!
> 
> ALC: I saw Uprising and really enjoyed it, yet I came away nostalgic for the well-crafted characters of the original but inspired by this future where Mako and Raleigh live happily ever after, and so my muse for ANSK came back to life!


End file.
